An Act of Desperation
by shie1dmaidenofrohan
Summary: She sought death on the fields of the Pelennor, and failed. Eowyn recalls what drove her to her desperate choice, and learning to live with the consequences. Rated for battle scenes. Updated 3.30.09
1. Chapter 1: Theodred

**Chapter 1- Théodred**

His eyes were on me again.

I could feel them burning into my back as I hurried down the hallway, like those of a wolf lying in wait for its prey. I shuddered at the thought, but even if I had the power to do anything to stop him, I could not take the time. Riders were returning from a battle by the fords of Isen, and rumors had come to Edoras saying that my cousin, Théodred, was among the wounded.

I reached the doors leading outside of Meduseld and pushed them open, ignoring the black creature that slinked behind me, and rushed down to the gate. My brother was already standing there, watching the Riders' approach, and turned as he heard my footsteps. "Éowyn," he said as he saw me, his voice thick with emotion. I ran over and stood beside him, my eyes searching past the walls of the city until I could see the Riders approaching; there were only three. "If he was badly wounded, he would not be riding, and none of the horses bear two riders," he said softly.

My heart sank as I looked back at Éomer. "Perhaps he simply could not ride, and sent a messenger instead," I answered; it was the only hope I had.

"Perhaps," he replied, "but my heart tells me otherwise."

Our fears were confirmed as the small group of men filed in, their horses stumbling with weariness. "What happened?" Éomer immediately asked. "And what of the Prince?"

The man at the head of the Riders slowly slid off the horse. His clothing was stained dark with the blood of his foes, while his arm was bound tightly with cloths soaked with his own. "He is dead," he said wearily.

I drew in a sharp breath, feeling strangely numb from the sudden grief. "What happened?" I heard my brother ask again; to me, his voice seemed to come from a distance.

"We were surrounded at the Fords," another man said. "They gained the eastern bank, and Grimbold on the west bank was hard-pressed to hold them back. Théodred was trapped on the eyot, and fell to an orc's axe before Grimbold could reach him." He glanced around and lowered his voice so that only Éomer and I could hear. "It was a strange battle—the fighting was always fiercest where the Prince stood, and once he fell they withdrew. If not for that, the Westfold would have already fallen, for we were sorely outnumbered. Even so, it is only a matter of time unless aid comes unlooked-for."

"His last words were for you, my lord," the first man added, looking at Éomer. "He said to let him lie there, at the Fords, to keep them till you come."

"Marshal Erkenbrand sends you a message as well, my lord," the third man finally spoke up. "He begs for your assistance."

Éomer considered this; I could tell that he was struggling against a desire to immediately muster his men and ride out. "There is one more thing, my lord," the second man said, removing something from his saddlebag. "Several of the orcs—the tall ones that killed the Prince—wore this emblem." He handed an iron helm to Éomer, and as he turned it over, I could see a flash of white against the dark metal.

Éomer's countenance immediately darkened. "Isengard," he muttered before looking back up at the men. "The King needs to know of his son, and of this treason. I would wish for you to come before him with me." He quickly gave orders for the messengers' horses to be taken care of, then turned to me. "Come, sister," he said more gently. I obediently followed the four men as we walked the stone path that led up to Meduseld. Háma, the doorwarden, allowed us to pass unchallenged; he seemed to sense that the news was ill, and made no attempt to hinder us with conversation.

I followed, a silent shadow behind the men, as we entered the king's hall. The room was dark, and the air felt as heavy as my spirits. My uncle sat upon the throne as if carved out of marble. Wormtongue sat on the stairs before the throne, in his customary spot. He briefly glanced at Éomer and the errand-Riders, then turned his sunken eyes to me. I could feel them looking me up and down, and tried hard to keep my face from betraying my disgust. As the men approached the throne and quickly knelt before the king in homage, I followed suit, waiting for my brother to speak as we stood once more.

"My lord," Éomer began, then stopped as if he was unsure what to say. "These men have just returned from the fords at the Isen. The orcs ambushed them before they could prepare for battle."

My uncle turned bleary eyes onto the messengers. "What news?" he finally asked, his voice cracking as he spoke.

"The battle went very ill, my lord," the man with the bandaged arm replied. "We lost many men, and the Prince…" His voice trailed off and he looked uncertain about how to continue. Finally, he stated, "Prince Théodred is dead, my lord."

"We buried him at the Fords," one of the other men said, "along with the men who fell defending him. Forgive us, lord, but there was no time nor men to spare to bear his body back to Edoras."

Théoden sat silently, a stricken look on his face. "My son…" he finally said weakly.

"Such a pity," the low voice of Wormtongue murmured. I lowered my eyes in order to mask the loathing I felt at the sound. "To lose your only son and heir; this is a grievous day for us all." I could feel anger rising within me at his words. _What could possibly grieve you about this? _I thought. _My cousin was nothing to you._ If anything, he had been merely an obstacle to be removed; he and my brother alike. A cold shiver ran up my spine as I wondered if Éomer would be the next to fall.

Even as the thought crossed my mind, Éomer stepped forward and boldly stated, "The men report that these were no ordinary orcs, my lord. They were larger and stronger, and they bore the mark of Isengard." There was a clang of metal on stone as Éomer tossed forward the helmet he carried. A crude hand was splashed across it, white spattered with blood—both the red blood of our people, now fading to a rusty brown, and the black blood of the orcs. "Every day they grow bolder. These are the orcs that killed your son; had they not withdrawn once he had fallen, the Fords would have been taken and they would already be roaming freely across the Westfold. We cannot let them go unchallenged!" Wormtongue's glare at him grew sharper as he continued. "Let me ride out with my men, my lord. We must protect our people, and if Isengard has now betrayed us, there is no time to lose."

"Éomer, I understand your anger, but you must not allow it to overcome reason. If your éored rides out, who will be left to protect the king? Erkenbrand is gone, and now that Théodred has fallen, you are the only one left." He turned to the king, his voice low and soothing; I wondered if the faintest trace of a threat in it was merely my imagination. "My lord, do not let the rash words of your sister-son determine your course in this matter. Saruman has always been a friend and ally to the Riddermark. It would be far wiser for Éomer to remain here in Edoras to guard your city."

There was a long silence as Théoden seemed to be considering what to do. Finally Éomer could stand it no longer. "My lord?" he asked.

"You will remain in Edoras." Théoden's voice sounded distant, faded by the unnatural old age that had claimed him. I looked away as despair struck my heart anew to see him in this condition.

"My lord…" Éomer began to protest.

The king looked up, his eyes filled with a numb grief. "Enough. Leave me." The messengers bowed and retreated, but I lingered, as did Éomer. He stepped toward the throne and Théoden looked at him again, beginning to look angry. "I said to leave me!" Éomer turned and left without another word, his face darkening.

I looked after him, longing to follow him rather than stay in the dismal hall, but I could not in good conscience leave him alone with Wormtongue. So, gathering my courage and trying to suppress the shudder I felt as I walked past him, I knelt before my uncle and took his hand. "Come, my lord," I said softly. "Grief for your son is making you weary. You need to rest." He did not argue with me, allowing me to help him to his feet as I put his cane in his hand. Then I led him down the hallway and to his chambers.

The hours after that were long and weary. Théoden did not speak a word; he barely even moved, he was so lost in his grief. I fought back my own, staying with him more to keep Gríma away than to try to ease his suffering; I had lost enough family in my years to know that I could not make it any easier for him. When I finally left him that evening to return to my room, I could hear strange noises coming from my brother's room as I walked down the hall and paused to listen. It sounded as if he was tearing the room completely apart while trying to be as quiet about it as possible, as I heard the faintest ring of metal hitting metal and the soft thud of leather on stone. Curiosity took over and I knocked on the door.

"Who is it?" I heard a muffled voice call from inside.

"Éowyn," I answered. The door opened, and I could see the disheveled state the room was in. I stepped inside and closed the door behind me as I surveyed the area. His sword-belt lay across the bed, as did a full quiver of arrows, his bow, and a fierce-looking dagger, its hilt carved in the likeness of a horse's head. Other assorted travel gear was piled next to his saddlebag. "You are leaving? Where are you going?" I asked, though my heart already knew.

"One of my scouts sent word earlier tonight that another host of orcs is entering our lands by way of the East Wall. If the reports are accurate, several of them bear the White Hand, and by all accounts they are heading straight for Isengard. King's orders or no, I cannot stand by and do nothing," he answered in a low voice, a grim look in his grey eyes as they met mine. "You do understand, do you not?"

_Yes, I understand perfectly,_ I thought, unable to force back my bitterness for the moment. _You cannot do what I am forced to every day of my life. _But I kept this to myself as I nodded. "When are you going?"

"Tonight. I have already spread the word to my men, and they are preparing as we speak. We will leave under cover of darkness. With any luck, we will be able to overtake some of these orcs before more lives are lost. If anyone asks, you do not know where I am. I have no wish for you to be caught in the middle of this, Éowyn." He paused, his gaze searching my face. "I am glad you will be here with Uncle Théoden. I would hate to leave him here alone with that Wormtongue skulking about."

I bit my lip and cast my eyes downward in an effort to mask my fear at being left alone with him myself. After a long pause, I finally looked up. "Be careful."

"I will," he answered, though his eyes still seemed troubled as he looked at me. Finally I hugged him quickly but fiercely and turned to go. My hand was on the latch when Éomer called out, "Éowyn?" As I looked back, he added, "Promise me that you will also be careful? I do not like leaving you alone here, but the king needs you now—perhaps more than ever." I nodded and left, closing the door behind me.

Later that evening, I sat alone by the window in my darkened room, unwilling to light a candle lest anyone outside might suspect that I was still awake, or that I was watching. I could see the dim shapes of men moving in the darkness below, a faint sheen on their armor from the pale starlight. They moved swiftly yet silently, so as to not wake anyone in the city. Even their horses seemed to sense the need for secrecy; not a whinny was heard. They quietly led their horses down in the direction of the gate, where I knew one of the guards who sympathized with Éomer was stationed; he would let them out, and no one would know until they were too far away for anyone to stop them before they reached the orcs. One by one they melted into the night and vanished.

A solitary tear made its slow course down my cheek. Here in the darkness, the loss of my cousin, my frustration at being able to do nothing to help my uncle and king, and my fears that I would never see my brother alive again pressed in around me, enemies I was powerless to fight. "I wish I were a man," I whispered into the darkness. "Then at least I could go with you. Farewell, Éomer." Then I turned from the window, angered at my own weakness, and lay silently upon my bed looking up at the cold winter sky until sleep claimed me at last.

When I arrived in the great hall the next morning, Háma, the captain of the king's guard, approached me. "Éowyn, do you know where your brother is?" he asked.

"No, I do not," I answered—truthfully, for Éomer had not told me where, exactly, he was going. "Is something wrong?"

He lowered his voice and glanced around. "A great number of horses were discovered missing this morning, and no one can find Éomer, or any of the men in his éored. I fear for him; Wormtongue is with Théoden now, and I fear that his intentions are to convince the king that Éomer has betrayed him."

I nodded and thanked Háma, then approached the throne. My uncle looked up at me with weary eyes, while a dark glint shone in Wormtongue's. "Good morning, my lady," he said.

I bristled inwardly at the words, my heart protesting violently at the thought of ever being "his" lady. Carefully keeping my expression free of emotion, I turned to the king and asked, "Uncle, what is the matter?"

Wormtongue answered for him. "Your brother seems to have disappeared, my lady, along with many men and horses. It would appear that he has disobeyed the king's order—a most grievous offense." He searched my face, obviously looking for an answer.

"I know nothing about this," I replied, unable to keep the defiance out of my voice. "But if Éomer did choose to go and fight, he is only doing what he believes is best for our people." _And what I would do if I were free to choose,_ I silently added, _unlike you._

Wormtongue stepped down from the dais and stopped within a few steps of me. His dark eyes bored into mine as he lowered his voice. "You know something. It would be wise, Lady Éowyn, to reveal what that something is."

My heart quickened as I lowered my voice as well. "Even if I knew anything about this, Gríma, I would never reveal it to you."

His face contorted into a hideous scowl, his hands clenching in barely-suppressed fury. He stepped closer to me and whispered into my ear, "I would rethink that if I were you. If you wish to help your brother, you had best cooperate. The price of treason is high—and I will see that it is paid." With that, he turned and walked away, leaving me with a heart pounding in fear.

* * *

**_Author's Note: For those of you who have read this before, this may seem a little different now--I've revised this and the next chapter to bring it closer to book canon, eliminating Theodred's funeral. There will be minor editing throughout the rest of the story to clean up the writing style as well, but any additional changes that will be made up through chapter 29 will likely be very minor. If there's anything major, I'll point it out as I go._**

**_reposted 3/16/07_**


	2. Chapter 2: Poison

**Chapter 2- Poison**

I spent the remainder of that day and the morning of the next assisting the king as much as I could, all the while trying to avoid Wormtongue. During that time, Éomer did not return, nor did any word come to indicate his whereabouts. Every so often, I caught Wormtongue looking at me darkly. I was certain that he believed I knew something, but there was something else there as well; though I couldn't quite put a name to it, that made me feel cold inside. When I did catch his eye, I looked away as quickly as possible—I did not want him, or anyone else, to know that I was afraid of him.

Since Théodred had already been buried, it was decided that a brief gathering would be held in his memory. Though I wished with all my heart that we could wait for Éomer to come back, I knew that there was no way of knowing when he would return, and making the preparations had helped to distract me from my own grief.

It was nearly time for the assembly to begin when I went back to the king.. The skirt of my dark dress pooled around my feet as I knelt before Théoden, taking his withered hand gently. "My lord?" I asked.

Théoden turned towards me, and I could see a flicker of emotion in his eyes. "My son is dead," he said, his voice flat and filled with grief.

"Yes, my lord, and we go now to honor his memory." He made no further response, but silently stared at nothing. Finally, I decided to take matters into my own hands and gently helped him up.

This, at least, I could do. Théodred's mother had long since passed away, years before I had been born. It seemed that his father's spirit had fled as well, though his body lived still. Éomer was gone; I was all that remained of his kin. If nothing else, I could ensure that my cousin had someone there to remember him, even if his final resting place was far from us.

I took Théoden's arm and led him to the end of the hall until we stood next to Háma at the doorway. He bowed slightly in acknowledgement of the king, then followed us down the path leading to the gates. The people of Edoras slowly filed in behind us, and the men began to sing a slow song acknowledging the courage of their fallen leader. In this fashion we left the gates of the city.

There would be no mound for my cousin beside those of his forefathers, but as we passed by the mounds of kings long-gone, I saw that a new pile of stones had been raised beside the path. It was there that we stopped, the people gathering behind us. I looked toward my uncle as he stood there with a dazed expression on his face, as one lost in a dark dream and unable to awake. He would not speak about his son, I realized, just as I saw a dark figure step into my line of sight.

"This is a dark day for us indeed," Wormtongue stated; though he did not speak loudly, his voice carried among the assembly. "Today Rohan is left without an heir to the throne, lost needlessly in a battle that should not have been fought. And with his loss we find our city without defense, abandoned by those who should stay to protect our King in this vulnerable time."

I gritted my teeth, knowing full well that he spoke of my brother. Before Wormtongue could speak again, I stepped forward and said, "Théodred's death should well be mourned; it is a great loss to us all. But he died bravely, defending our people. My cousin would have had it no other way." Wormtongue looked greatly displeased that I had dared to dispute him in this matter, but as several murmurs of agreement rippled through the crowd, he held his tongue for the moment. I stepped away from the King, picking a few blossoms of simbelmynë from one of the nearby mounds, then gently dropping them onto the pile of stones. "_Westu hal_, Théodred," I said softly. "May your spirit be at peace in the halls of our fathers."

Several other women in the crowd followed suit, and I stood aside and watched as the stone mound grew white, covered by the snowy blossoms. One man began once again to sing slowly, and his voice was soon joined by several others. Then, after a long while, Théoden turned away and stepped towards the walls of Edoras. The company began to scatter, and Háma once again stood beside me. "My lady, will you be returning soon?" he asked quietly.

I looked to see that Wormtongue was already making his way back towards the city, then shook my head. "I would like to stay a little longer. Will you accompany the king back to Meduseld?" He nodded and departed with the others, and I was left alone.

I knelt down and picked up one of the flowers. Its milky petals felt as soft as velvet between my fingers, and as I gazed at it, my eyes blurred with tears. I finally allowed them to fall as my thoughts drifted into old memories.

I remembered Théodred as he had been, full of life and hope. When Éomer and I had first come to Edoras to live, he, more than anyone else, had eased the adjustment for us between life in Aldburg and life in Meduseld. Though he was already a man when I was yet a child, he had ever been more like another older brother to me than a cousin. It had been he that had first taught me the basics of swordplay, saying that as a member of the House of Eorl I should know how to wield a blade whether I was female or not, and it had been largely his example that had taught Éomer, who was admittedly prone to rash action, to use his head instead of letting his temper get the best of him.

Even as we grew older, and his father's health began to fail, out of the three of us Théodred had always been the one who believed most firmly that the days would brighten for our people once more. I had never realized until now, when he was lost to me forever, how his refusal to give up hope had strengthened mine as well. _And what hope have we now without you, Théodred? _I wondered, a tear splashing on the simbelmynë blossom and running off like a drop of rain.

I was abruptly jerked back to the present when I heard a voice behind me, one I knew all too well. The cold knot that filled my stomach whenever he was near twisted painfully. "Such a pity," he said. I kept my face ahead and did not answer, hoping in vain that if I ignored him, he would go away. It was not to be. "You must miss him terribly, especially now that your brother has abandoned you."

"Éomer will return," I answered, still refusing to look back at Wormtongue.

"And if he does, what then? Do you really think that the king will ignore the fact that Éomer disobeyed a direct order? You heard the order as well, my lady; you cannot speak for him in this regard. The best he will be able to hope for is prison." I heard his heavy footfall, then felt the cold weight of his hand upon my shoulder..

I angrily pushed it away, stood up and whirled to face him. "Leave me alone!" I cried.

"Oh, but you are already alone," he answered. "Your cousin, your parents are all dead. Your brother is as good as dead. The years weigh so heavily upon your uncle that he does not even recognize you anymore." The hideous voice softened. "And when he is gone, what then? To whom shall you go? There is no one left."

I remained silent for a long moment, his words pounding in my ears. "I do not know where I will go. But I do know this much—I will not stand by and do nothing while hope remains," I finally answered.

"Hope? Of what?" he mocked, knowing just as well as I that my defiant words were hollow. "That when the king is gone, you will find a way to leave this place? You cannot join the Riders; they would never allow a woman to fight alongside them. Perhaps you could marry and start a new life, away from all of these troubles. But who would take you? For fair you are, Éowyn, yet cold, as fragile as a lily touched by frost. It takes little to break a flower such as that."

For a long moment, his eyes gazed into mine as his cold hand brushed the cheek where the tears I had shed for my cousin still remained. I closed my eyes, shivering in disgust at the touch, yet unable to pull away as if I had been frozen by some spell. When I opened them, his eyes gleamed with a dark light as they stared at me.

Anger flared up inside of me. "Your words are poison!" I spat at him, then turned and walked back to the gate as quickly as I could; I would not give him the satisfaction of seeing me run from him. The tears started anew; I hated him, and I hated myself because as much as I tried to keep myself from believing them, his words still echoed in my mind, casting a deeper shadow of despair over my already darkened thoughts.

As I reached the open gate, I heard a cry, and stepped back just in time to avoid being overrun by pounding hoofs. I turned and looked in wonder at the white form racing away. If I was not mistaken, it was the horse Shadowfax—the horse chosen by Gandalf the Grey upon his last visit to Edoras. He had returned only weeks before, now completely wild. It had taken the efforts of many strong men just to confine him in the paddock; none dared to attempt to ride him. And he had somehow escaped, and now ran free over the green fields.

Never in my life had I felt such envy for a horse. But Wormtongue had been right about one thing—I had nowhere to go, and I could not leave my uncle alone. Not like this. With a sigh and one last look as Shadowfax disappeared from view, I turned and walked back into the city.


	3. Chapter 3: Eomer's Return

**Chapter 3- Éomer's Return**

Another day passed, and no word of Éomer's whereabouts came. I tended my uncle in ever-growing frustration; he spoke hardly a word to anyone, and it seemed to me that the only voice he heeded was that of the snake who continued to sit by his side. I had to constantly guard my words as well, lest I give away anything that might bring harm to my brother. This became increasingly difficult, as Wormtongue spent the time convincing Théoden that Éomer had become a threat to the throne of Rohan and needed to be dealt with swiftly, and all my attempts to defend him were becoming ever more fruitless.

My anxiety grew the following day, and I spent hours pacing the high stone platform that the hall was built upon, looking for any sign of his return. Still no word came. Finally, as I watched the next morning, I heard the cry of one of the gatekeepers that riders were approaching.

Immediately I ran to the stables, my cloak flying behind me in the wind. Years of practice allowed me to have my grey stallion, Windfola, saddled and out of the stables within moments. I mounted quickly and cantered down to the walls. The guards stood back as I flew through the gate and across the fields to where my brother and his company were approaching.

He looked weary, but otherwise fine, and he smiled warmly as he saw me though his expression seemed thoughtful, even a bit troubled. As Windfola drew even with his steed, I wheeled the horse about so I was riding evenly with him. My eyes glanced back over the remainder of the éored; it looked a little smaller than usual, and one horse was being led riderless. "There was a battle then?" I asked.

He nodded. "I will tell you all, but not yet. I have heard much today which needs to be brought to the attention of the king immediately."

I lowered my voice. "Be careful what you say; Wormtongue is dead-set against you. I fear that he has been able to convince our uncle that you are guilty of treason, despite my attempts to persuade him otherwise."

"I know, but it is a risk I had to take. And well worth it, though we have paid dearly," he replied, looking back sadly.

"How many did you lose?"

"Fifteen men and twelve horses. But not a single orc was left alive."

I looked back again. "Twelve horses? Then there should be three horses returning, yet I only see one."

He nodded as we rode together through the gate. "I will explain all when I stand before the King." He then turned to his men and called out, "There is no need for all of you to accompany me to Meduseld; I ask only for Éothain to come. We have ridden far and hard today, and I know you are weary, as I am. Go home to your families; I will summon you again if need calls." There were exclamations of gratitude from the company, and the men quickly scattered. Éomer, his lieutenant Éothain and I continued back to the hall.

After turning the horses over to a stablehand to be taken to their stalls and fed, we entered the hall. Théoden was sitting on his throne, looking angrier than I had seen him in a long time. And yet, I thought with a little bit of guilt, it was almost a relief to see him with any expression at all. "Éomer, son of Éomund, why did you disobey my orders and ride out?" he asked.

Wormtongue rose from the step below the dais where he always sat at the king's feet as I took my customary place by his side. "The king demands a full explanation at once, Éomer. And choose your words wisely," he said with a threatening glare.

Éomer's voice reflected the anger I felt at these words as he replied, "The king demands it? Or do you? It would be no surprise if I am already condemned in your mind, Gríma. Nevertheless, I will answer to the King, for it may do him good to know that there are still some who will fight for our lands instead of hide in the shadows and whisper words of delay while our people are slowly being destroyed." Wormtongue scowled as Éomer continued. "We overtook a band of orcs by the edges of Fangorn the day before yesterday. Fifteen men we lost, and twelve horses, for they were many. But none of the orcs remain alive to return to their masters."

"Masters?" Wormtongue asked, turning to Éothain with a question in his eyes.

"With your leave, my lord," Éothain said to Éomer, giving my brother an apologetic glance before turning to face the dais. "After the battle, as we gathered the orcs into piles for burning, we noticed there were two groups of orcs gathered there. One group was taller and broader than those we have seen before, bearing the mark of a white hand; the insignia was the same as those that are reported to have slain the Prince." _Saruman, _I thought. "The others were smaller and wore the red eye of the Dark Lands."

A murmur ran through the assembly. Never before had the hosts of Mordor penetrated so far into our lands. Théoden held up his hand and all fell quiet again as Wormtongue continued his interrogation. "Is that all you have to report?"

"I would think that would be enough," I said coldly before I could restrain my tongue. Éomer's troubled gaze briefly met mine, and I fell silent lest I further incited Wormtongue against him.

There was a long silence, then the king asked, "Éomer?"

"Not all, my lord." He paused for a moment as if trying to collect his thoughts. "This morning as we were returning, we came across three travelers, the likes of which I have never seen in these lands—an Elf, a man and a Dwarf, all clad in Elvish fashion. We did not see them until we were almost upon them. They claimed that they had pursued the orcs from the hill of Amon Hen to rescue two of their companions who had been taken captive—Halflings, they said."

"Halflings? This is no time to be retelling old wives' tales, son of Éomund," Wormtongue mocked, though his eyes lit up in sudden interest.

Éomer's steel-grey eyes blazed in anger, and I could tell he was close to completely losing his temper with Wormtongue at last. After a few moments' struggle, he finally regained control of his features and continued. "The man claimed to be Isildur's heir; I have seen with my own eyes the Sword that was broken reforged. Also, he brought grim tidings. Boromir son of Denethor was a member of their company; he was slain just days ago by the very orcs we destroyed." My eyes widened. I remembered the man of Gondor a little; he had passed through Rohan months before on a strange mission, saying he was seeking an Elven haven called Imladris. The horse that the king had lent him had returned riderless long before, but I had still hoped that some ill fortune had not befallen him. "Also, Gandalf the Grey traveled with them as well; he fell in the mines of Moria."

"That news is not so grim." Wormtongue laughed, and the sound rang hollow in my ears. I did not hear what was spoken next; my mind was reeling, trying to take in all that I had just heard. My uncle had been furious when Gandalf had taken Shadowfax when offered the loan of a horse upon his last visit, and more so when Shadowfax returned wild. It was whispered among many that his coming was always on the wings of doom, but I had never believed that the old man meant any true harm, and that he had died was hard news to hear. My thoughts snapped back to the present as I heard Éomer say that he had lent the travelers two of the spare horses under a promise that after learning as much as they could of the fate of their friends, the horses would be returned.

"And you believed them? Truly, you are a greater fool than I thought, Éomer. Obviously they were spies and enemies of Rohan—why did you not bring them to the throne to be judged?" Wormtongue hissed.

Éomer's eyes flashed coldly. "I am not easily deceived, Gríma. And I am more troubled by treachery from within these city walls than from the distant plains."

For a moment, the two stood, eyes locked in a silent challenge as Wormtongue's pale face flushed in anger. Wormtongue broke it first. "Guards!" he called as he turned to the king. "Éomer has broken your direct order, my lord. That alone is worthy of punishment. But to let these spies go unhindered—nay, to _aid _them—merely proves that he is, indeed, a traitor. I advise that you put him somewhere where he can not cause any more harm to your land."

"No!" I cried out as some of the guards reluctantly stepped forward. I ran down and placed myself between them and my brother, then turned to the king. "My lord, Éomer has only done what he deemed best for our people. He has destroyed a great number of our enemies. Are these the marks of a traitor? I beg you, uncle, do not be swayed by Gríma in this matter!"

For a moment, my uncle hesitated, and I watched him intently, desperately hoping that perhaps this time I had gotten through to him. I did not see Wormtongue approach me until his hand gripped my arm tightly. "Come, Lady Éowyn. Do not make things even harder for your brother," he whispered through tightly clenched teeth.

Without thinking, I whirled around and slapped him as hard as I could. He staggered back, a crimson flush quickly springing up where my hand had struck him. In the next instant, he was on the floor with Éomer pinning him down with his knee and drawing his sword as he gripped Wormtongue's throat tightly with his other hand. "Hear this, Gríma—if you _ever_ dare to lay a hand on my sister again, I swear upon my father's grave that this will be the last thing you see," he growled, holding his naked blade in front of Wormtongue's face. Two of the king's guards then dragged him off of Wormtongue and twisted his arms behind him until he was forced to drop his sword. I ran to my brother's side and pulled one of the guards off of him. The guard, in turn, pinned my arms behind me, holding me back as I lunged for the other.

"Enough!" Théoden called, leaning his heavily on his staff as he rose shakily from his seat. "Háma!" The captain of the guard stepped forward. "Put him in prison."

Háma hesitated. "But… my lord?"

My uncle looked wearier than I had ever seen him. "I cannot allow him to threaten death within my hall," he slowly replied.

Wormtongue had scrambled to his feet by this time. "Do it! Or you will also be locked up for your insolence!" he demanded.

Háma bowed slightly, and then came over to where my brother stood beside me. "Come, Éomer," he said, then added in a softer tone that only the three of us could hear, "I am sorry."

Éomer placed a hand on his arm. "I do not hold you responsible, my friend." His gaze grew cold as he glared at Gríma before allowing himself to be led out of the hall. The guard still held onto my arms to hold me back, and once again I could do nothing but watch helplessly as another one I loved was taken from me.

-------

By the time I was able to go visit Éomer, twilight had already covered the sky and the first cold stars of evening glittered brightly above me. Prisoners were often kept in a low stone building behind the hall while they awaited judgment from the king; Háma had told me this was where Éomer had been put.

The guard at the door greeted me kindly, and I could see sympathy in his eyes; the news of Éomer's arrest had spread quickly through Edoras, and from what Háma had told me as I'd left the hall, there were many who were greatly displeased by it. "Good evening, Lady Éowyn," he said. "You are here to see your brother?"

"Yes. May I go in?" I asked.

"In a moment; I must see what you are bringing in first," he replied, motioning to the bundle I carried. "Wormtongue's orders," he added in a lowered voice.

"Of course," I answered dryly as I unrolled the bundle to reveal nothing more than a blanket and some food. He nodded and stepped aside.

My feet echoed softly on the stone floor as I entered. Another guard handed me a torch and motioned to the stairs that led to the lower level of the prison. I thanked him and slowly made my way down the dampened stairs, being careful not to stumble. The flame from the torch flickered, causing my shadow to stretch and dance against the wall. As I reached the bottom step, I saw rows of thick wooden doors in the stone wall, each with a hinged door at the bottom just large enough to pass food through, and a small window higher up crossed with iron bars. "Éomer?" I called out softly, setting the torch in a small metal loop attached to the wall for such a purpose.

"Second door on the left," he answered, his voice muffled through the thick walls. I quickly went to the door he had mentioned and looked through the window. He sat on a low bench against the wall in just his shirt and breeches; they had stripped him of his armor. The only other object in the cell was a small cot against the opposite wall. He stood and walked over to the window.

"I know that I should not have lost my temper," he said remorsefully, "but I could no longer bear it; too long have I been forced to keep silent while he has haunted your steps. He did not hurt you, did he?"

"No, I am fine," I answered. "Truthfully, I think he would have had you locked away even if you had not attacked him. You know that with Théodred gone, you are the greatest threat to him now—you are the only other person the king might listen to."

"And what about you?"

I glanced down. "He will not listen to me either. I spent the entire afternoon trying to convince him to let you go, but it was useless. As long as that accursed Wormtongue is around, he hears no other voice. And Gríma took special pains to ensure I would not be left alone with the king this day." _Besides, _I added silently, _I am only a woman._

"As long as you are not left alone with Gríma. I do not trust him any further than I could catapult him."

I could not help laughing as an image of Wormtongue flying over the fields of Rohan and out of sight crossed my mind. "'Tis a pity that will not happen—it would be a pleasant sight!"

Éomer laughed as well. "That it would."

I suddenly remembered the bundle in my arms. "Oh! I almost forgot—I brought you this." I bent down to the small hinged section of the door, lifted the latch and pushed the blanket through. He carefully unrolled it to find the small basket of food that I had brought him and smiled. "It was the best that I could do; I did not have much time," I added apologetically.

"There is no need to apologize, it all looks wonderful. And thank you for the blanket as well, I am sure that it will be useful tonight."

I forced a small smile, though I was grieved at the thought of my brother spending the night alone in that cold, damp cell. "Would you like me to stay for awhile, or should I leave you in peace to eat?"

He sat down on the bench and set the basket beside him, pulling out a piece of bread. "Please, stay," he said just before taking a bite.

I was more than willing to oblige, and we talked long into the night, mostly remembering happier times that had long since passed. Finally the torch began to burn low, and my brother glanced in the direction of the fading light reluctantly. "You should return to Meduseld soon."

"I know. I will return tomorrow, as soon as I can. And I will try again to get our uncle to release you," I promised.

He nodded, smiling at me grimly. "Good night, Éowyn. And thank you."

I said good night to him, briefly clasping his hand through the bars before taking what remained of the torch and going back up the stairs. I returned the torch to one of the guards, then stepped out into the night and breathed deeply. The cold air filled my lungs, leaving a slight chill even as I exhaled, and I wrapped my cloak around me tightly as I walked back to the hall. A thick blanket of cloud had blocked the starlight, leaving the sky in murky, impenetrable darkness. _A fitting sight_, I thought grimly as I walked, feeling more dejected with each step I took. With Éomer in prison, there truly would be no one left to fight for us now. My mind recalled the words the messenger had said just days before: unless aid came unlooked-for, we were doomed to fall. But I could no longer hope for such help to come; hope had long since forsaken us.


	4. Chapter 4: The White Wizard

**Chapter 4- The White Wizard**

I was unable to speak privately to my uncle until late in the morning. By some miracle Gríma had left the room, though I feared it was only to cause more difficulty for Éomer. I cautiously approached Théoden and knelt next to his throne. "My lord?"

After a long moment, he turned his head towards me. I decided to go straight to the heart of the matter while it seemed he might hear. "Uncle, I beg you to please reconsider your judgment against Éomer." I paused, watching his face carefully. I could see in his eyes that he was greatly torn over the matter, but he did not answer. I continued, "He is loyal to you, my lord, no matter what Gríma might say against him."

"That is a lie," I heard a cold voice say, and closed my eyes as what little hope I had of being able to speak further with Théoden crumbled. _He just _had_ to come back now_… I thought, irritated at the sight of Wormtongue as he continued, "Unless loyalty now comes in the form of disobedience."

I stood up and turned to face him. "It is better to disobey and fight to help our people than to mask a heart full of cowardice under flowery words and unwise counsel," I said, defiance marking every syllable. His eyes narrowed maliciously, but I whirled around and walked away before he had a chance to reply. I did not want to trouble the king by making him listen to yet another argument, nor was I in a mood to withstand Gríma's presence long enough to hold such a discussion.

I left the main hall and closed the door behind me in one of the side hallways, staring blankly out the window. The sky was still overcast and I could see no sign of any break in the thick grey blanket above. _This is hopeless!_ I thought angrily. How could I possibly make my uncle see reason if I could not even speak to him? Everyone else in the court, even the many who sympathized with my brother, would not dare to dispute the king's verdict. I felt the heavy weight of Éomer's fate resting on my shoulders, all the more so because I was powerless to change a thing.

I was so lost in desperately trying to come up with something, _anything_ that would get Wormtongue away long enough for me to speak to my uncle again that I did not hear the footsteps approaching behind me. Suddenly I felt the coolness of steel pressing against my throat. In the same instant, a hand clamped tightly over my mouth and nose, muffling my scream and leaving me nearly unable to breathe.

My heart began to pound as I tried to force down the fear that was rising in me so I could keep my wits about me. I struggled wildly to get away, and finally managed to elbow my attacker hard in the stomach. I heard a soft groan as the wind was knocked out of him at the same time that I felt a light stinging sensation on the side of my neck. I reached up my hand and was surprised to find blood on my fingers. This distracted me just long enough that the next thing I knew, I had been forced into a corner with the dagger pressed against my throat once more. Gríma leered at me as he moved in closer, leaning against me to keep me from escaping as he cut off my cry for help with his hand once again. I bit down hard and he jerked his hand away, dropping the dagger and cursing as I spat at his feet in an attempt to get the vile taste out of my mouth.

He shoved me hard enough to knock the back of my head into the wall, causing stars to dance before my eyes. "Now will you just be quiet?" he sneered, clamping a hand around my throat. I nodded, too stunned to do anything other than play along until I could find a chance to escape. Even if I had not struck my head, he had never dared to lay a hand on me like this before, and though I had long feared being trapped in a situation like this with him, now that I was in it I knew not how to get away since my attempts had already failed. Of course, I had always assumed before that, were something like this to happen, someone would be around to help.

He watched me warily for a moment, until he was satisfied that I would not struggle. "Much better," he said, a leering smile on his face. "You know that the king is not going to listen to you, Éowyn. Just accept that."

"I will not abandon my brother to an unjust imprisonment," I replied, loathing him even more with every second that passed.

He stepped a little closer, and I could feel his breath on my neck. Then without warning, he pushed me even harder against the wall and pressed his foul lips roughly against mine. His kiss felt cold and slimy, and I involuntarily shuddered as he forced his tongue past my lips. One hand wrapped around my waist and pulled me closer, forcing my body against his, while the other brushed against my neck and down towards my collarbone. For a long moment, I was too paralyzed with shock to react; then I quickly jerked my knee up as hard as I could. I could not help feeling a grim satisfaction as he released me and fell back, doubled over in pain. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand in revulsion as I ran for the door. He quickly scrambled over and barred my exit.

"What do you want from me? Will you not let me go?" I cried out, beginning to panic.

His face was still twisted in a grimace of pain as he said, "I want only your assurance that you will not tell anyone of my little….indiscretion, my lady." He looked anything but remorseful.

"Of course I will! You have no right or claim to me, and I refuse to consent to this sort of violation," I spat, even as I looked for another escape route.

"Have it your way, my lady, but you may want to consider the cost of your actions if you speak against me."

I stepped back, a cold feeling of dread settling in my stomach. "What do you mean, the cost of my actions?"

"I mean," he replied, a wicked smile on his pale face, "that if you breathe a word of this to anyone, do not doubt that your brother will be executed for treason before nightfall."

I stepped back again as I felt the color drain from my face. "You cannot do that," I answered, trying to sound confident, but the doubts arose even as I spoke the words.

He knew this, and having found my weakness he went for the kill. "I cannot? Go ahead and speak to the King. Whom do you think he will believe—the solemn word of his most trusted advisor, or the slanderous delusions of a grief-stricken maiden?"

I was speechless, yet I knew he was right. Théoden would not listen to me; in the days before his illness he would have, but not now. My silence was the only way I could save my brother. With this knowledge, a dark wave of despair swept over me. Seeing that I was defeated, he stepped aside at last and I fled the hall.

My first thought was to go to Éomer and tell him what had happened, but I just as quickly decided against it. Even if I said nothing about it, Éomer would know that something was amiss. And once he knew that Wormtongue was involved, he would lose his temper completely and slay him the moment he was released—if he was indeed released at all—and thus seal his own doom. And, knowing that Wormtongue would not hesitate to carry out his threat, I knew that I could not go to my uncle. I did the only other thing I had the presence of mind to do—I pushed the doors open and ran out onto the stone platform, pacing and clenching my fists to try to suppress my fear, mingled with humiliation and disgust.

_I will not cry, he cannot make me cry,_ I told myself sternly as I forced back the tears as best as I could, though a few still spilled out and ran slowly down my cheeks, drying quickly in the wind. My light golden hair was whipped about me and into my face, but I did not bother to push it away. My breath came in gasps as I fought to regain control of myself—I could not go back into the hall like this, or everyone would know something had happened and raise questions that I could not afford to answer. I took a few deep breaths as I looked out over the walls and onto the fields beyond. That was when I first saw them.

Three horses approached swiftly. Though I could not see the riders from where I stood, one of the horses seemed to move quicker than the others, and his white coat glowed in the sunlight. Even from a distance, the horse's proud gait reminded me of Shadowfax. But that could not be; he had never before consented to bear a rider, not even the heir to Rohan's throne. As I stood there and watched, I heard a tearing sound and saw the green flag that usually flew proudly above me floating away in the wind and over the gate to where the riders approached, and my heart sank further at this omen. I bowed my head, only to catch a glimpse of my blood-stained fingers. My hand flew to my neck, which was still bleeding a little from the shallow cut.

I turned and rushed back into the building and down the hall to my room. I held a kerchief to my neck until the bleeding stopped. Then pushing my hair back over my shoulders, I poured water from a pitcher into a shallow basin next to my bed with trembling hands. I quickly cleaned the blood from around the wound, then violently scrubbed my face to rid it of all traces of Wormtongue's defilement, wishing I could wash away the memory just as easily. Then as the water stilled, I used it to study my reflection. My face looked pale, but I noted with a bit of relief that I did not appear to have been crying. My hand drifted down to my neck. A thin reddish line was visible on the side of my neck but, thankfully, I had no blood on my dress. I experimentally pulled some of my hair over my shoulder, then looked at it from the side. It hid the cut well enough, I decided. Any other means of hiding it would draw too much attention.

I glanced down at my white dress, smoothing the skirt, then twisting my head to look at the back to see if the wall had dirtied it when Wormtongue pushed me against it. It had not, at least not where I could see it. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, trying to prepare myself mentally since I knew he would be in there too. My eyes opened and searched the room, resting on a small, sheathed dagger. I had gotten into the habit of carrying it with me, but had forgotten that day in my rush to talk to Théoden about Éomer—_Of course this _would_ be the day I needed it_, I thought ruefully. I glanced down at my dress, then finally shoved the sheathed dagger into one of my boots, hoping I would have enough time to draw it if necessary. Finally, when I believed I had sufficiently calmed myself, I opened the door and approached the great room. My duty was to stand at the king's side when visitors came, and I reasoned that if I entered from the side, I could probably reach him in time to slip into my place with relatively little interruption.

When I arrived in the hall, Wormtongue was already sitting in his customary place on the steps in front of the dais. As I moved to stand behind the King's chair, he glanced back at me. The look in his eyes taunted me, daring me to speak of what had just passed between us, and all I could do was look away as the doors opened.

Four figures entered—three men and a child, I thought at first. But I paid the others little mind as all my attention was immediately drawn to the old man who walked in front, cloaked in grey and leaning on his staff, and I blinked in surprise. Had not Éomer told us just yesterday that Gandalf had fallen in Moria? The four of them stopped in front of the dais, and a tense silence settled over the hall. Finally, Gandalf spoke. "Hail, Théoden son of Thengel! I have returned. For behold! the storm comes, and now all friends should gather together, lest each singly be destroyed."

My uncle slowly rose to his feet, leaning on the staff he had taken to carrying. "I greet you," he replied, "and maybe you look for welcome. But in truth, your welcome is doubtful here, Master Gandalf. You have ever been a herald of woe, and troubles follow you like crows. I will not deceive you; when I heard that Shadowfax had come back riderless, I rejoiced at the return of the horse, but still more at the lack of the rider; and when Éomer brought the tidings that you had gone at last to your long home, I did not mourn. But news from afar is seldom reliable." I winced inwardly at his words, knowing them to be mere reflections of the lies that Wormtongue had been feeding him for so long, as well as another slight against Éomer's trustworthiness. "Here you come again!" he continued then. "And with you come evils worse than before, as might be expected. Why should I welcome you, Gandalf Stormcrow? Tell me that."

As he sat down, Wormtongue spoke. "You speak justly, lord. It is not yet five days since the bitter tidings came that Théodred your son was slain upon the West Marches—your right hand, Second Marshal of the Mark. In Éomer there is little trust. Few men would be left to guard your walls, if he had been allowed to rule." My loathing of him rose further with every word he spoke against my brother, and my hands clenched into fists as I fought the impulse to reply to that. But I knew it was not my place to interrupt, so I helplessly listened as he continued, "And even now we learn from Gondor that the Dark Lord is stirring in the East. Such is the hour in which this wanderer chooses to return. Why indeed should we welcome you, Master Stormcrow? _Láthspell _I name you, Ill-news; and ill news is an ill guest, they say." He laughed at his own jest, though there was no humor in it.

"You are held wise, my friend Wormtongue, and are doubtless a great support to your master," Gandalf said, and I was astonished to hear him call Gríma by that name, especially in front of the King. "Yet in two ways may a man come with evil tidings. He may be a worker of evil; or he may be one who leaves things well enough alone, and comes only to bring aid in time of need."

Grima smirked a little. "That is so, but there is a third kind: pickers of bones, meddlers in other men's sorrows, carrion-fowl that grow fat on war. What aid have you ever brought, Stormcrow? And what aid do you bring now? It was aid from us that you sought last time you were here. Then my lord bade you choose any horse that you would and be gone; and to the wonder of all you took Shadowfax in your insolence. My lord was greatly grieved; yet to some it seemed that to speed you from the land the price was not too great." _More to yourself than anyone else, _I added silently to myself as he stated, "I guess that it is likely to turn out the same once more: you will seek aid rather than give it. Do you bring men? Do you bring horses, swords, spears? That I would call aid; that is our present need. But who are these that follow at your tail? Three ragged wanderers in grey, and you yourself the most beggar-like of the four!"

"The courtesy of your hall is somewhat lessened of late, Théoden son of Thengel," Gandalf replied, looking at my uncle. "Has not the messenger from your gate reported the names of my companions? Seldom has any lord of Rohan received three such guests. The weapons that they have laid at your doors are worth many a mortal man, even the mightiest. It was the Elves who clad them in grey, after their own fashion, and thus they have passed through the shadow of great perils to your hall."

Wormtongue's voice was almost eager as he retorted, "Then it is true, as Éomer reported, that you are in league with the Sorceress of the Golden Wood? It is not to be wondered at: webs of deceit were ever woven in Dwimordene."

The shortest of the four companions stepped forward, looking angry, and I could see now that he was no child; a thick reddish-brown beard obscured the lower portion of his face. I blinked in wonder, for I had never seen a Dwarf before, though I had heard tales of them. Gandalf gripped him by the shoulder as if to hold the Dwarf back while he sang softly, almost to himself. Though I did not catch all the words, images came to my mind unbidden of sunlight filtering through golden leaves and sparkling on silver water. For a moment, I almost relaxed.

Then suddenly, Gandalf straightened up, his eyes intent on the figure crouching on the steps. "The wise speak only of what they know, Gríma son of Gálmód. A witless worm have you become. Therefore be silent, and keep your forked tongue behind your teeth. I have not passed through fire and death to exchange crooked words with a serving-man till the lightning falls." He abruptly threw back his grey cloak, revealing that underneath he was clad in white, and raised his staff. I looked up in alarm as the light in the hall suddenly failed. There was a rumble of thunder outside as the clouds seemed to grow darker, and the fire in the hearth faded to the faintest glow. As for the wizard, his garments and hair shone brilliantly white against the gloom.

"Did I not counsel you, lord, to forbid his staff?" Wormtongue suddenly cried out in a hissing whisper. "That fool, Háma, has betrayed us!" As he finished speaking, a blinding flash suddenly lit up the room; I gasped and instinctively raised my hand to shield my eyes from the light. As the light faded, the room fell completely silent, and as my eyes readjusted to the dimness, I could see Wormtongue was lying face-down on the ground, looking as one dead.

"Now, Théoden son of Thengel, will you hearken to me? Do you ask for help?" Gandalf asked, raising his staff and pointing towards one of the high windows on the side of the hall, where the daylight was still filtering in. "Not all is dark. Take courage, Lord of the Mark; for better help you will not find. I have no aid to give to those that despair, yet counsel I could give, and words I could speak to you. Will you hear them? They are not for all ears."

The darkness within the hall lifted slightly at his words, and I could sense the conflict within my uncle; I gripped the back of his chair, unsure what to do. The wizard's voice became more commanding as he continued, "I bid you come out before your doors and look abroad. Too long have you sat in shadows and trusted to twisted tales and crooked promptings." With these words, he cast a dark look towards Wormtongue, still lying on the floor.

After a long, tense moment, Théoden began to slowly rise from his chair and step forward. I rushed around the back of the chair and took his arm, helping him down the stairs. I glanced down at Gríma as we passed him; he did not stir, and I wondered if I was to be free of his presence at last. Then the King's steps faltered, and I tightened my grip on his arm to support him. As we approached the doors, Gandalf knocked on them loudly and called, "Open! The Lord of the Mark comes forth!" The doors swung open at the command, and the cool wind stung my eyes, blowing my hair about my face. Gandalf asked for the guards to be sent to the foot of the stairs, then turned to me. "And you, lady, leave him a while with me. I will care for him."

My uncle looked at me steadily, and to my surprise I saw that much of the color had already returned to his face, and his eyes were clear once more. "Go, Éowyn sister-daughter," he finally said. "The time for fear is past." I nodded reluctantly and turned to go back inside. As I passed through the doorway, I paused and looked back at my uncle, wondering what the wizard had to say to him. It then struck me that only now would he fully realize the import of all that had passed in recent days—especially the loss of his son and his imprisonment of his sister-son. It would be a great deal to bear all at once, and I pitied him for it.

Then my eyes turned towards the three travelers who had come with the wizard, since I could now see them clearly. Besides the Dwarf, there were two others. The first was fair-haired, beardless and tall with gently pointed ears, and a light was in his clear grey eyes as he watched Gandalf and my uncle. I had never seen an Elf before either, and it was a surprise to see him standing beside the Dwarf with no trace of animosity showing on either of their faces. From what little I had heard of the two races, I had not thought that they would willingly travel as companions. Then my eyes drifted to the third of Gandalf's companions.

He was tall, taller than the other men in the hall, though not quite as tall as the Elf. He appeared to be a good deal older than I, as if toil and care had aged him untimely; the dark hair that spilled over his shoulders was lightly frosted with silver in some places. His eyes were a deep grey, the color of the sky just before a storm. He had the look of one who was used to travel and battle, yet there was an air of majesty about him that I could clearly sense, unlike anything I had ever seen in the men of Rohan. Then, for an instant, his eyes met mine with a level gaze and I was unable to move. I could feel my pulse quickening as my mind filled with questions—who was he? Where was he from?I suddenly realized I was staring, and my face grew hot as I quickly turned and walked back into the hall.

I stood there for a moment in the shadows of the entrance, as my eyes adjusted to the dimness, and tried to make sense of what had just happened. I had been around men my entire life—growing up, my playmates were my brother and the other boys training to be warriors, and now as a woman I spent my days with the men who were part of the king's court. But I had never cared what any man thought of me, until now. I felt a sudden urge to run back and speak with him, but my head reminded me with infuriating calm that my first responsibility was to tell my brother of what had happened. I hurried down the hall and out of a side door.

The prison was just ahead, and I ran inside and down the stairs before any of the guards could stop me. "Éomer!" I called out breathlessly as I stopped before his cell. He lay on the low bed, seemingly asleep. "Éomer, wake up!" I shouted, a little louder this time.

He opened one eye and groaned a little. "Éowyn? What time is it?" he asked groggily.

"It is late in the morning, but that matters not," I answered. "Éomer, you were wrong. Gandalf is not dead, he is here right now, and our uncle is well again, and…"

He jumped up and hurried to the door, suddenly wide-awake. "What? Slow down a little. What is this about Gandalf and the King?"

I quickly tried to compose my thoughts. "A little while ago, Gandalf came with three other travelers."

"What kind of travelers?" he asked, a hopeful light jumping into his eyes.

"Strange ones, the likes of which I have never seen. One appeared to be a Dwarf, the other two a man and an Elf."

I was surprised to hear Éomer laugh. "I knew he would keep his word!" he exclaimed, looking more at ease than I had seen him in a long time.

"You know them?" I asked.

"Yes—the very same I met on the way home a few days ago. The Dwarf is Gimli son of Gloin of the Lonely Mountain; the Elf, Legolas son of Thranduil of Mirkwood; and the man is Aragorn son of Arathorn, heir to the throne of Gondor."

_Aragorn._ I repeated the name silently to myself, matching it to the face that had engraved itself upon my mind. _So he is a king after all_. I was not surprised; he looked every bit the part to me, though he was not dressed as one who would claim the high throne of Gondor. Éomer pulled me out of my musings and back to the present then as he asked, "Éowyn, what about the King?"

I quickly told him of what had passed between the wizard, Wormtongue and Théoden, and how the years had suddenly fallen off of him. "All this time I thought he was lost to us forever, Éomer," I said in wonder. "I must go back, but I had to come and tell you first. And with Wormtongue out of the way, I am certain that he will release you now!"

I heard the sound of feet rushing down the stone steps as if answering my statement. For a moment my breath caught in my throat, fearing that Wormtongue had returned even now. I sighed in relief to see that it was Háma, carrying a ring of keys in his hand. He nodded in my direction, smiling as he called out, "My lord, I have come to release you. King's orders."

Éomer flashed me a triumphant grin as he answered, "Give the keys to my sister, Háma, and if you could get my sword, I would greatly appreciate it." Háma bowed his head and handed the keys over to me, then left the room. I fumbled with the keys in my excitement and had to try several different ones before I found the right one, but once I did the lock turned easily and the door swung open. Éomer hurried out and clasped my arm briefly, then ran up the stairs. I followed as quickly as I could, holding my skirt out of the way to keep myself from tripping.

Háma was waiting at the top with Éomer's sword belt. He quickly strapped it on as I handed the keys back to the guard. "Thank you," I said quietly, and the guard nodded, smiling at me. Then the three of us left the prison.

As we reached the steps, I saw our uncle sitting heavily on a low stone bench at the top, with the wizard sitting on the topmost stair before him. He seemed to be fighting with despair once more. "Alas that these evil days should be mine, and should come in my old age instead of the peace which I have earned. Alas for Boromir the brave!" he lamented. "The young perish and the old linger, withering." My heart sank again to see the agony on his face, and I knew that the loss of his own son was what grieved him most.

"Your fingers would remember their old strength better, if they grasped a sword-hilt," Gandalf replied, not unkindly. Our uncle stood up again and reached to his side, then glanced around and muttered to himself as if looking for something. I could not even remember the last time I had seen him with his sword.

Éomer silently drew his own sword and walked up the stairs with Háma at his side. I followed a few steps behind. "Take this, dear lord!" my brother called out, and knelt with the hilt towards the king as he added, just loud enough for those of us nearby to hear, "It was ever at your service."

Théoden straightened up, and I could not tell if he was shocked, angry or both. "How comes this?" he asked.

Háma bowed quickly. "It was my doing, lord," he said, sounding extremely nervous. "I understood that Éomer was to be set free. Such joy was in my heart that maybe I have erred. Yet, since he was free again, and he a Marshal of the Mark, I brought him his sword as he bade me."

"To lay at your feet, my lord," Éomer quickly added. Then my brother and uncle looked at each other for a long moment, unmoving. I could feel the tension passing between them from where I stood, and a familiar feeling of dread crept up on me again—what if Éomer was sent back to the prison, or worse?

Gandalf finally broke the silence. "Will you not take the sword?" he asked softly. At that moment, Éomer and our uncle seemed to finally reach some kind of an understanding, as Théoden reached out and grasped the blade. It seemed to me that his strength fully returned at that moment; he swung the sword around and lifted it into the air with a cry, the blade flashing in the sunlight that had suddenly emerged. As he called the Riders to arms, my vision blurred with tears once more, this time for joy. I looked around as I knelt with those of my people gathered there, and my gaze drifted once again to Aragorn as he knelt with the rest of us in homage to our King. And in that moment, I truly believed that maybe there was still hope for us after all—perhaps even for myself.

* * *

**_A/N: This chapter also underwent some rather heavy revisions--the scene between Eowyn, Theoden and Gandalf was largely taken from the movies originally (mainly due to a lack of confidence in my ability to make such a conversation that she would have observed but had little part in flow with the rest of it.) However, it's in bookverse now. Some of Tolkien's word choices have been slightly altered to aid with the flow of the dialogue between his words and mine, though I mean no disrepect to the Professor and hopefully the spirit of his words still comes through. Also, many thanks to Deandra, who kindly read over this a couple times to help me get it right._**

**_Reposted 3/26/07_**


	5. Chapter 5: A Shieldmaiden's Duty

**Chapter 5- A Shieldmaiden's Duty**

After Théoden returned the sword to Éomer and sent Háma to find his own sword, I rose to my feet with the rest of the people gathered around me. The King announced that he would have food and drink prepared for the travelers, as well as shelter if they wished. As he said this, he glanced around until his eye caught mine, then he nodded slightly. Understanding that my duty was to oversee this, I left my place in the crowd and began moving towards the side door, reaching it just as I heard the announcement that the host would leave that very day.

I quickly shut the door behind me, waiting a moment as my eyes adjusted to the dimmer light of the hall. As I did, I heard Wormtongue shouting and quickly ducked behind one of the carved wooden pillars that framed the center of the hall, hoping he would not see me. Fortunately, his attentions were turned elsewhere for the moment. As I glanced out from behind the pillar, I could see him stalking across the floor, a string of curses pouring from his mouth. "How can my lord be so foolish as to listen to this conjurer? He will not be satisfied until the last of our men have fallen and all the land laid waste!" he cried out as he walked. Háma followed him, carrying the King's sword and glancing toward the ceiling in obvious exasperation. To his credit, he did not waste words on a reply. I stayed where I was until they had left the hall, then lifted my skirts a bit and rushed across the floor to the door leading to the lower level of Meduseld.

"Hanna?" I called out as I entered the kitchen. My stomach growled slightly in protest at the smell of freshly baked bread, and I suddenly remembered that I had not yet eaten that day. Hanna had been the head cook of the king's household for as long as I could remember. She had never failed to greet me with a grandmotherly smile—usually accompanied with some tasty morsel, at least when I had been a child and had often visited the kitchens when I was unable to sleep at night or had simply needed cheering up. Even now that I had grown, the kitchens had remained a comforting place, particularly because Wormtongue rarely set foot within them.

Hanna turned to greet me now with her customary smile, her steel-grey hair coiled around her head in a tight braid to keep it out of her way. "Lady Éowyn! What can I do for you, my dear?"

"The king requests that whatever food can be contrived in haste be set out for himself, Lord Éomer, and the four guests who arrived earlier this morning," I answered, hoping that there would be something already prepared—fit for a king, I thought with a smile as Aragorn's face flashed once again through my mind.

"Your timing is fortunate, my lady. I have just finished baking the bread for the day, and this stew is almost done," she said, motioning me over to the largest cooking-hearth and scooping some stew out of the large iron pot she had been stirring when I had arrived.

I took the spoon she handed me, and tasted the stew. The meat was perfectly done, with just the right amount of spiciness to offset the more earthy taste of the last of the winter's store of root vegetables. "It tastes wonderful, as always, Hanna," I said, smiling. "This will be perfect." She smiled and then ordered some of her kitchen staff to start preparing the tables.

I helped Hanna with the bread-filled baskets, and two of the serving women carried out large stacks of wooden serving bowls and spoons. Two more brought out trays laden with empty goblets, and we quickly put everything in place before two lads, sons of some of Théoden's guards, carried the stew pot out between them and set it in the middle of the table so that the guests could take as much as they wished. One of the guards had been sent to the cellar for a cask of wine, and I finished filling the goblets just as my uncle and his companions walked in and sat down.

Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli ate in silence, concentrating on their food as if they had not had a decent meal in days—which they had not, I realized, if my brother's tale was true. Gandalf and Théoden talked softly about Saruman and the threat he now posed to Rohan. Éomer listened intently to all that passed between the wizard and the King as he ate, occasionally offering up a comment of his own on the state of affairs when Théoden asked, and I was greatly gladdened to see my uncle taking my brother into his confidence once more. My part was to wait on the King and his guests, to refill their goblets when needed or fetch whatever else was desired.

I tried to pay attention to the conversation, but found it difficult to concentrate. Often without my realizing it, my gaze kept drifting towards Aragorn when no one was watching; once I became aware of my behavior, I quickly averted my eyes and hoped that my regard for him was not too obvious. I gradually became aware, however, that there was something missing from this scene.

I glanced over at my brother, who motioned me over with his goblet. I picked up a nearby pitcher and began to pour more wine for him. "Éomer?" I whispered as I poured. "Where is Wormtongue?"

"He has gone back to his true master," Éomer said with a grim smile. He shook his head and added with a sigh, "I just hope his going will not cause any more mischief than his presence here has already brought upon us."

I barely heard his last statement. All I could think was that perhaps the nightmare was over. I would not have to sneak around my own home anymore. I would no longer have to spend my days hovering around Meduseld for fear of what would happen to my uncle, nor glancing over my shoulder in the halls for fear of being followed myself. I could have run out of the room singing for joy, but restrained it to a wide smile. Éomer began to smile back, then his eyes hardened as they caught a glimpse of the thin cut on my neck. In my excitement over my uncle's remarkable recovery, I had forgotten to keep it hidden. "Did he do that?" he asked, looking as if he would jump up from the table and hunt Gríma down then and there. I looked down, but did not need to answer; my silence was answer enough for him. "Why that little…what happened?" he whispered fiercely as his hand clenched tightly into a fist. Our uncle briefly looked over and I silently groaned. The last thing I wanted was to make a scene over this. "What did he do to you, Éowyn?" Éomer asked, more insistently.

I shook my head, though the memory of his cold kiss was still enough to make me feel ill. "He cornered me this morning; he wished to see if I knew anything he might use against you, brother. I got this when I was trying to get away from him." Éomer scowled darkly and I quickly added, "It was merely a scratch, and my own fault. Nothing else happened. I am fine, Éomer," I said, laying a hand on his shoulder to restrain him as I moved my hair to hide the cut again with the other. "Truly, I am. Do not trouble yourself over this. He is gone now; everything will be fine."

The look of fury on his face gave way to a sorrowful relief as he gently squeezed my hand. "I hope so, Éowyn." He studied my face for a long moment as if trying to see what I was hiding from him; neither of us had ever been very good at lying to the other. I looked away first, handed the cup back to him and returned to my uncle's side. Théoden looked at me curiously for a moment, but did not press the issue as he resumed his conversation with Gandalf.

I was brought back to the present as my uncle announced that he was giving Shadowfax to Gandalf, and men came bearing armor and shields. I watched as Aragorn chose the arms he would bear until I noticed Théoden signaling to me. "Yes, my lord?" I asked after quickly walking over.

"Éowyn, bring some more wine, and the cup." I nodded and swiftly left the room. It was tradition for the King and his captains to pass around a cup before riding out. As the only kinswoman of the King in the household, it had been my duty to bear this cup ever since I had first come to Meduseld as a child. I went down to the kitchen and picked up a small flask of wine and a gilt goblet skillfully adorned with galloping horses, their golden manes and tails streaming behind them as they encircled the cup. When I returned to the main hall, my uncle rose to his feet, followed by the guests. I quickly poured the wine into the goblet and stepped forward.

"Westu Théoden hál!" I said in our own tongue, then switched back to the Common Tongue for the benefit of the guests. "Receive now this cup and drink in happy hour. Health be with you at your coming and going!"

The King took the cup and drank from it, then handed it back to me. I gave it to Gandalf next, then I came to Aragorn. I paused for a moment, then looked up at him with a smile as I tried to think of something to say. "Hail, Aragorn son of Arathorn!" I finally said softly as he took the cup from me, then inwardly cringed at my lack of ability to come up with anything more intelligent to say to him. I was thankfully distracted from my thoughts as his fingers brushed mine, and my hand shook slightly as I felt my pulse quicken.

His smile faded a bit. "Hail, Lady of Rohan," he answered. I glanced down as I passed the cup to Legolas, wondering if I had somehow offended him. Next came Gimli, then Éomer. If my brother had noticed anything amiss, he made no sign as he drained the rest of the cup; if anything, the look in his eyes as he handed it back to me clearly showed that he was still fuming over Gríma's attack on me.

My uncle headed for the door, and we all followed him. As the guards opened the doors, I could see that all the people of the city were gathered there still. The Riders were already clad in armor and milling around, preparing their horses or checking weapons. The commotion died down as they saw the King standing there. "Behold!" he called out in a voice stronger than I had ever remembered hearing. "I go forth, and it seems like to be my last riding. I have no child. Théodred my son is slain. I name Éomer my sister-son to be my heir."

Éomer and I had been standing side by side behind our uncle, and as these words were spoken we exchanged a quick surprised glance. I suppose that I should have expected no less, since my brother was the closest remaining kinsman of the King. Though two of his sisters had also borne sons, Éomer was the most reasonable of his nephews to succeed him, due to his experience in leading warriors as the Third Marshal and his years in the King's household. Even so, I was amazed at how quickly everything had changed—had it really been just yesterday that Théoden had imprisoned my brother for alleged treason?

I suddenly realized that my uncle was still speaking. "But to someone I must now entrust my people that I leave behind, to rule them in my place. Which of you will stay?"

The nobles all looked at each other silently, unwilling to stay behind while there was a battle to be fought. The King spoke again. "Is there none whom you would name? In whom do my people trust?"

Háma stepped forward. "In the House of Eorl," he answered for the people.

My uncle spoke quieter now, though I could still hear. "But Éomer I cannot spare, nor would he stay. And he is the last of that House."

"I said not Éomer," Háma said, and as he did his gaze shifted past the king to where I stood. My heart felt like it stopped for a moment as he continued. "And he is not the last. There is Éowyn, daughter of Éomund, his sister. She is fearless and high-hearted. Let her be as lord to the Eorlingas, while we are gone."

My uncle considered this a moment, then nodded. "It shall be so. Let the heralds announce to the folk that the Lady Éowyn will lead them!" He sat down on the stone chair set before the doors as the heralds called out this news to my people. I stood frozen in shock. Me? Lead the people? I could not even help my uncle, let alone the whole city! I was far less confident in my ability to govern than my skill with a sword, and wondered why he would trust me with such a task.

I felt a gentle nudge on my arm, and looked up to see Éomer giving me an encouraging smile. "He would not entrust this to you if he did not believe you could do it," he said softly. I smiled back at him, grateful for his confidence in me, then stepped forward as the king spoke softly with two of the guards standing there. The guards departed, and I knelt before him.

"Uncle, why may I not go with you?" I asked, softly enough so that only he could hear. "I can fight just as well as any of these men." I already knew what his answer would be, but I had to try.

"No, Éowyn," he said sternly. Then his eyes softened. "I know you can fight. That is why you must do this for me. I know not if the paths through the mountains are being watched; our people may need your sword before the journey is finished." He gently laid a hand on my arm. "There is no one else to do this, Éowyn, and no one else that I would wish to entrust with this task, save your brother." I nodded, though I did not feel much better about it. He smiled at me tenderly, as if sensing my doubt, and pressed something into my hand. I looked down to see a silver cloak-pin carved in the likeness of a horse's head—the same brooch worn by the Riders of the King's éored.

My head jerked up in surprise. "Uncle?" Just then the guards returned; one carried a coat of mail and the other my sword. These were handed to the King, who in turn gave them to me. I clutched the brooch tightly as I pulled the mail over my head. "Your sword is in my service now, Éowyn," Théoden said. "I think it only fitting that you bear the mark of one of my warriors."

I looked down, a thick lump forming in my throat as I looked down once again at the finely detailed brooch. "It was ever at your service, my lord," I said as I knelt before him, echoing my brother's earlier words. "Thank you."

The words seemed so inadequate to express the gratitude I felt at this gesture, but he understood and smiled as he stood and took my hands, raising me to my feet and then closing my fingers over the brooch. "Farewell, sister-daughter. Dark is the hour, yet maybe we shall return to the Golden Hall. But in Dunharrow the people may long defend themselves, and if the battle go ill, there will come all who escape."

"Speak not so!" I cried, not wanting to consider the possibility that they might not return. Out of the corner of my eye I caught a slight movement, and glanced over to see Aragorn nearby, watching. I felt that nervous flutter in my stomach again at his gaze, and hoped with all my being that he would return. "A year shall I endure for every day that passes until your return," I added as I looked back at my uncle.

"The king shall come again," he said. "Fear not! Not West but East does our doom await us." He gave me one last smile, then turned and went down the stairs. Gandalf fell into step behind him, followed by Éomer. As he passed, he whispered to me, "We will meet again, sister. You have my word." I gave him what I hoped was a confident smile. Next Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli followed him, then the captains of the household. I stood watching before the doors, setting the point of the sword down on the ground and holding the hilt in one hand, the brooch still in the other as I rested it on the top of the hilt. As Aragorn walked away, he suddenly paused and looked back, and his eyes briefly met mine. I smiled at him faintly, and he lifted his hand in a small salute as he turned away. I saw Legolas give him a questioning glance and speak to him, but I was too far away to hear what was said.

The men who were too old to ride into the battle watched silently, along with the women and children. As I watched the shapes of the individual men and horses blur together and the glint of sunlight on their armor and spears grow ever fainter, I briefly wondered how many times I had stood here, watching with the other women as the men rode away to battle and glory until they were out of sight. It never changed; after they disappeared over the plains, the women would all turn away and go back to their houses as if nothing had happened.

I had asked my mother once as we watched my father ride away why this was so, and why none of the women ever went with them. She told me that this was the duty of the women of the Riddermark. "It takes a different kind of courage to wait, and to be able to go on with your daily life when all your hopes lie with those who went away," she said. "Besides, if everyone went off to the battles, who would be left here to ensure that there is something to return to?" I had no answer for her then, but something inside me had still protested the idea that my fate was to always be the one left behind. The protests grew even louder now; everything I cared about in the world and every hope I possessed was getting further away by the minute, and I longed to go fight with my people more than ever.

But I knew my duty. I finally turned to go back to the house myself long after they had passed out of sight, hoping that whatever little I possessed of the type of courage my mother had spoken of would be enough to complete the enormous task that lay before me of emptying the city.

_----_

**_A/N: Westu Théoden hal-- _Fare you well, Théoden**

**Revised 4/9/07**


	6. Chapter 6: Leaving Edoras

**Chapter 6- Leaving Edoras**

I awoke before dawn on the morning after the Riders departed, feeling completely exhausted. The remainder of that afternoon and evening had been spent taking inventories of what we would need to bring with us, ensuring that everyone in the city had started making their own preparations to leave, and finding out how many people would be unable to walk the distance, namely the very young children and the elderly. These would ride in carts along with much of the food and other supplies that the rest of us could not carry.

We still had some horses left to us, mostly the sturdier ones that would be used to draw the wagons and the ones too young to be trained to the saddle. The few riding horses would be used by several boys, old enough to have begun their sword-training but too young to ride into battle, who had enthusiastically volunteered to act as scouts. I had also decided to ride, in order to be able to move back and forth quickly and to ensure that no one was falling behind.

I had been so busy the previous day with preparing everything else that I had not yet packed my own things, so I threw some clothing and a few other small items that I deemed necessary into a saddlebag. I dressed in a simple tunic and threw on a sleeveless riding dress with a split skirt over top, then put on the mail shirt that my uncle had given me the day before over that. Next, I shoved my feet into a well-worn pair of riding boots and pulled my hair back into a thick braid. Finally, I put on a warm green cloak, clasped it with the horse brooch that my uncle had given me and took one last look around the room.

A few embers were still glowing in the hearth, and I poured some water from the pitcher beside my bed over top to extinguish them. My sword-belt lay on the bed, along with the dagger that I had grown accustomed to carrying. I glanced around again as I strapped the belt around my waist and picked up the sheathed dagger to attach it to the belt.

The small room was not built much differently than any other room in Meduseld, with stone floors and thick wood-paneled walls, and a narrow window by my bed. The walls were adorned with woven tapestries of horses and the golden sun that was the symbol of the kings. A small fireplace was built into one wall, with a few small things sitting upon its mantle. There was not much furniture: only a bed, a small table and chair, and a wardrobe. In spite of the simple furnishings, everywhere I looked seemed to have some reminder of my life in Edoras, from the treasured box that held a few of my mother's prized possessions to the unsightly gash in the bedpost that I had made when I had foolishly tried to practice my sword technique in my room one time. This room had been my refuge ever since I had first come to live here; it had been the one place I could vent my frustration and grief, first when my parents had died and then in the long years during my uncle's illness. _I wonder if I will ever see it again_, I thought as I reluctantly picked up my saddlebag and closed the door behind me.

The great hall was filled with activity as I stepped into the room. The household servants who had also been left behind—mostly women, of course—were transporting the essential items out the doors to the wains that waited outside. I had put Hanna in charge of the food, and she was preoccupied with ordering around the younger women who worked in the kitchen with her as they struggled to carry out the large barrels of food. I walked by as one of the girls, who had been walking backwards with her end, bumped a table and stumbled. I quickly reached out and caught her end of the barrel to keep her from dropping it; she steadied herself and thanked me with a small smile. I thought for a moment about seeing how Hanna was doing, but one look at her face decided me against it—clearly she was not in a good mood this morning. Everything seemed to be in order and I turned to leave. Just then I heard a woman's voice shout, "Freda, slow down! You will trip someone!"

"Sorry, Mama!" a little girl crowned with waves of reddish-gold hair called out as she nearly collided with me. I reached out and gently grabbed her shoulders to slow her down and she looked up with a big grin. "Good morning, Lady Éowyn!" she said cheerfully.

I could not help smiling at her, though my smile was tainted with sorrow. The girl was only five, obviously too young to understand what was happening. I hoped earnestly that the journey would end well; she should not lose her innocent smile so soon. "Good morning, Freda!" I replied, picking her up as she laughed. "You are not causing your mother any grief, are you?" My smile grew brighter as she shook her head emphatically.

"Do not listen to her, Éowyn. If she keeps running about like this, I may lose track of her and leave her here," her mother said with a smile and a little wink as she came up, a few mail shirts draped over one arm and a curly-haired little boy holding her other hand. I was determined that we could not be completely defenseless, in case the mountain passes were being watched. Every spare weapon or other gear of war left in Edoras would be coming with us, and Háma's wife had volunteered to help me arm those that could bear weapons, since she knew a bit about them herself.

"Maeglith, you could not possibly think about leaving this sweet child here! Why, what would Háma say if he learned that his only daughter had been left behind?" I gasped in mock horror. Maeglith just smiled, and I looked at Freda. "You had best stay close to your mother, Freda. She will need you to help her watch after Freálaf." She nodded solemnly, then her customary smile lit up her face again as I hugged her and set her down. "How much is left to carry, Maeglith?"

"The men took most of what was in the armory, of course, but there are still several spears and shields left. Swords, knives and some light armor too."

I thought quickly. "The spears will be of little use if most of us are on foot, and few of us have the training to use them effectively. We will take them in one of the wagons as a last resort. Those that are able to bear arms could probably manage to defend themselves with the other weapons. The lads that are scouting will need to be armed in particular."

"Of course," Maeglith said. "We could give them first choice on what to carry, then divide the rest among the others. Some of the younger women that have no children to watch could manage knives or short swords as well."

"True." I paused. "Have you packed yet?"

"Yes, our things are waiting in the armory," she answered. "We do not need to bring much; hopefully we will be able to return soon."

"Yes, hopefully," I murmured thoughtfully as she left, Freda trailing behind after quickly hugging me around my knees. I smiled briefly, then a dark cloud settled on my thoughts again. Could I even dare to hope that any of the men would return? The large orc parties that had been raiding our lands would more likely than not be only a fraction of the forces that would be sent against them.

Gríma's dark predictions that I had overheard, saying that all of the men would be slain, crept into my thoughts once more. If Éomer had been right and he truly was allied with Saruman, surely he would be correct in this. I shuddered as I realized that this would be the kind of reckless hate that my people would be facing. How could I believe that Éomer and Théoden might be able to withstand it?

My spirits were lifted a bit as I thought of Aragorn and his companions. Obviously they were skilled warriors; from what little of their tale that I had heard through Éomer, I knew that they had already survived several battles where they had been sorely outnumbered. And I could tell that there was much more to Aragorn than it seemed. If anyone could help the people of Rohan through this battle, surely the heir to the throne of Gondor could.

I suddenly remembered my errand and started for the armory. _Why do I care so much? _I wondered as I walked. I had only met the man the day before and had barely spoken with him, and yet at that moment I felt more concern for his safety than for most of the men I knew and had spent my entire life with. I could tell from the little bit of time that I had spent with him that he was noble, and that he had spent three days and nights pursuing a far greater number of his enemies to save his friends showed his loyalty. But I could say the same things about Éomer or Théoden, or many others that I knew among the Rohirrim. Why then was it Aragorn who was foremost in my thoughts now, and not my own kin?

_Eru help me, surely I cannot love him_! The thought struck me as swift as lightning. It could not be…could it? And yet, what other explanation could there be, I wondered? He was everything I could imagine wanting in a man: brave, loyal, strong and handsome. And his coming, along with my uncle's healing, had given me what I thought I had lost forever—hope. We had a greater chance of victory if Gondor and Rohan joined forces, and I knew that the hope of many of the men, my brother not least of those, had been renewed as they observed the future king of Gondor fighting alongside them. And now that the King's health had been restored, perhaps I would finally have the chance to escape the gilded cage that Meduseld had become and do something more honorable than wait on tables and watch for the men to return. Perhaps I could finally find some happiness somewhere; perhaps, I thought, he would be the one to help me find it.

I was startled out of my thoughts by a loud clatter. I had unwittingly knocked some spears that had been standing by the door over onto some helmets lying nearby. Feeling annoyed at myself for getting lost in a daydream when there was so much to be done, I quickly picked up the spears and left.

-------

Before mid-day, all of the preparations had finally been made and the people were slowly filing down to the gate and out of the city. The scouts fanned out to the front and sides of the column, though they were careful not to stray too far from the main group. I had decided to stay in the back until I was certain that no one had been left behind.

Windfola snorted and pawed at the ground, anxious to leave. I rubbed his nose affectionately and he calmed a little. "I am sorry," I whispered to him. "You were bred to be at the head of the battle, not a pack horse for a maiden." The stallion nuzzled me as if accepting my apology. With a sigh, I slung the shield I had chosen onto my back, picked up a spear and jumped up into the saddle. The spear felt slightly awkward in my hands. Although Éomer had taught me how to use it, I was much more comfortable with my sword and touched the hilt of it to reassure myself that it would be there if I needed it. Then I signaled to Windfola and he began to move forward.

We walked slowly after the line of people. The group was mostly silent, although I could hear the cries of a few children who did not understand why we had to leave, and the murmurs of their mothers trying to comfort them. I could also hear a few grumbles here and there from some of the older men who had also been left behind, but chose to ignore them. We passed through the gate and some of the older boys who had stayed behind pulled it shut once the last of the people had passed through. I did not look back until we had gone past the barrows where the Kings of old lay. I could see Meduseld gleaming in the sun at the top of the hillside and the thatched rooftops of the houses surrounding it. A lump swelled in my throat, and I wondered why it was so difficult to watch my city shrink into the distance when all I had wanted to do for so long was to leave it behind. My heart felt heavy as I glanced back one last time to see the Golden Hall disappearing from sight, but I set my gaze before me once more; this journey through the mountains would not be an easy one, whether we were challenged or not, and I wanted to be ready for whatever might befall us.

A few young women who had found horses and had been willing to bear arms were riding to the sides and back of the column, allowing for the scouts to spread out further once we had left the city, and I moved Windfola towards the front. The first stage of the journey was uneventful, and it took all of my concentration to keep looking for any possible ambush, especially since my thoughts kept turning towards wondering if the men had already met battle—or, to my annoyance, wandering into daydreams involving a certain Ranger of the North.

When we were about halfway there, I called for a rest. After I picketed Windfola, I pulled a small loaf of bread out of my bag and began to eat it slowly as I wandered through the crowd aimlessly. I caught Maeglith's eye and headed over to see my friend. Freda was sitting on the ground next to her, in a far less cheerful mood than I had seen her in earlier. "How much longer do we have to walk, Mama?" she asked as I approached.

"We have a little further to go, love," Maeglith replied, breaking off tiny pieces of bread and handing them to Fréalaf to eat. She saw me coming and smiled briefly.

"But I do not want to walk anymore!" she complained.

"What about riding, Freda? You could come with me on my horse, if that would be more to your liking," I offered, coming up behind her.

She jumped up and whirled around. I laughed to see how her face lit up. "Really? May I, Mama?" she asked, turning her blue eyes on her mother in a pleading glance.

Maeglith looked at me skeptically. "Will she be too much extra weight?"

"Not at all," I answered. "I doubt that Windfola will even notice. He was bred to carry much more weight than I."

She looked thoughtful for a moment, then nodded her approval and Freda clapped her hands in delight and ran off to tell one of her friends that she was going to get to ride on "Lady Éowyn's big horse." Maeglith smiled. "That is very kind of you, Éowyn. She really looks up to you, you know." I nodded, slightly embarrassed as she continued, "I just hope the dear child will not drive you mad with her chatter."

"Oh, I do not mind. I enjoy the company," I said truthfully. _And having to keep my mind on her conversation will help to keep it _off_ of Aragorn_, I silently added, feeling slightly frustrated with myself. A warrior could not allow himself to be so distracted when so many people were depending on him; nor could I. I fell quiet for a moment, watching Maeglith play with her son. Without thinking, I suddenly blurted out, "Maeglith, may I ask you something?"

She pushed a strand of her dark golden hair away. "Of course, my lady."

I felt a little foolish, but decided that I may as well continue. Maeglith was one of the few women in Edoras I considered enough of a friend to discuss things with that I could not talk about with Éomer or the other men. "How did you know that you loved Háma?"

Maeglith looked slightly taken aback at the question; I could easily guess that the slightly older woman had not expected such an inquiry from me. To her credit, she quickly recovered and replied slowly, "I think part of me always knew. Háma was friends with my brother Léofa when we were growing up, and I had always looked up to him like he was another brother. But then as we got older, something changed between us. Things were quite awkward for a time, until we both realized that we no longer thought of each other as brother and sister, but as something much deeper than that." She smiled, her face coloring a little at the memory. "He spoke of it first; he was so nervous that he was not watching where he was going and walked right into a stable wall!"

I laughed at the thought of the normally composed guard being that flustered. "I am certain that it did not help matters that he probably could not take his eyes off you the entire time," I could not help adding.

Maeglith laughed as well. "That is true."

"Then you just knew?" I asked, feeling like I was no closer to getting to the bottom of my sudden interest in Aragorn.

She thought for a moment. "Love reveals itself differently to everyone, Éowyn. For me, it was something that grew slowly over time. For my sister, it happened suddenly when she first met the man whom she is now betrothed to, and he felt the same right away. Léofa also fell in love with his wife quickly, but it took her much longer to return it. It was not until my brother was wounded in battle and we thought he would die that she realized how much she cared for him."

"It sounds as if there is no way to be certain then," I said softly.

"What does your heart tell you?" she asked, her blue eyes searching my grey ones as if trying to find out who was causing me to ask.

"Nothing," I answered quickly. _Why did I say that? _I wondered. Speaking to Maeglith about it had made me more certain that I did love him and that this was the reason that I was so distracted by him, yet something held me back from speaking of it. _I just need more time to be certain—that must be it._ This being decided, I added, "It was mere curiosity, nothing more."

She smiled at me knowingly. "I can only speak from my own experiences, Éowyn, but the one thing I can tell you for certain is that love comes when you least expect it—and often from whom you least expect it."

I nodded slowly. "Thank you, Maeglith." Freda came back then, her eyes still sparkling with excitement. The other people were preparing to move on, so I took the little girl by the hand and led her over to Windfola as I called back to Maeglith, "Do not worry, I'll take care of her."

"I trust you," she answered with a smile. "We all do."

My face colored slightly at the unexpected compliment, and it was with some relief that I soon lost myself in answering Freda's questions as I helped her onto Windfola's back. As I pulled myself into the saddle behind her, I briefly wondered if this was a good idea; if we were attacked, it would be harder to fight with a child on the horse. I did not want to disappoint her, though. _I will just deal with that if the time comes,_ I decided as we started moving again.

--------------------

**_A/N: Revised 4/9/07_**


	7. Chapter 7: Dunharrow

**Chapter 7- Dunharrow**

The rest of the journey passed as uneventfully as the first part, for which I was grateful—my greatest fear had been an ambush that we were too inadequately armed or trained to defend ourselves from. The sun was just beginning to sink past the mountaintops as we passed through a narrow gorge, just wide enough for the wains to pass in single-file. Freda looked up in awe at the mountains towering high above our heads. "It is just like a tunnel," she said; we could barely see the thin line of the sky above.

"Not for long," I answered as I heard the sound of rushing water. We were at the head of the column now, and she gasped as the gorge suddenly emptied into a green valley nestled amid mountains capped with snow and shining like fire in the late afternoon light. A swift-moving river wound its way through the valley not far ahead of us. I could not help smiling—her reaction was much like mine had been the first time I had seen it. "Hold on, Freda," I said as I dismounted and led Windfola by the reins, looking for a good place to cross. Though the signs of spring were increasing every day, winter had not yet completely released its hold on our land, and the last thing I wanted was for anyone—especially the children—to catch a chill from wading through the icy waters.

I heard a clear horn call, then spotted a few men moving toward us. Their leader stopped a few paces away, glancing at me and then back at the line of people slowly filing out of the gorge and gathering behind me. "What is all this?" he asked, looking at me. "My lady, who is in charge here? I would speak with him before I can allow you to go on."

"I am in charge," I answered. He looked rather taken aback. "I am Éowyn, daughter of Éomund and sister-daughter of King Théoden. He has ridden to war at Helm's Deep; I was ordered to lead those remaining to the mountains for their safety."

"Forgive me, Lady Éowyn," the guard answered, bowing his head respectfully. "No word of this has reached us here in Dunharrow."

"There was no time to send word; the men were gathered and departed just yesterday," I replied, forcing back my irritation. "These people have journeyed far today and are weary; will you let us cross, or not?"

He glanced back at the refugees from Edoras again, then slowly nodded. "You may cross. But I must send word to Lord Dúnhere."

"Very well," I said. "Is there a shallow place where we can cross, or at least a place where we can pull the wains across without overturning them?"

One of the other men spoke up. "We may be able to construct some sort of bridge, Lady Éowyn."

I smiled. "That would be wonderful. Is there anything I can do to help?"

The leader of the guards looked surprised again. "I do not believe so, my lady. It will not take long." He turned back to his men. "Alric, send word of Lady Éowyn's arrival to Lord Dúnhere. Tála, come with me." The three men left, two of them quickly returning with planks that they laid over a narrow part of the river.

I remounted Windfola and rode him out into the shallow part of the river, Those on foot crossed first, followed by the women on horseback. Next, the people who were riding in the wains slowly climbed off of the wagons and crossed the river. Once we had managed to direct the wagons across the river, I rode to the far bank while Tála and the captain removed the planks. I thanked them, then began to follow the road leading eastward to the Hold.

We had nearly reached the foot of the mountain when we were hailed by another small group of riders. I recognized one of them as Alric; Dúnhere, the Lord of the valley of Harrowdale, rode at their head. He dismounted and I followed suit after making sure that Freda was holding onto Windfola securely. "Lady Éowyn!" he said, bowing slightly and looking rather overwhelmed as his eyes drifted to the crowd behind me. "I had not heard news of your coming here."

"There was no time to send word, Lord Dúnhere, nor was there anyone to send. For that, I do apologize," I replied. "But the hour grows late, and I would see the people settled before it grows much darker."

"We will do our best to accommodate you," he quickly agreed, "though I know not where we will find places for them all so quickly." He glanced over the group of people as he spoke, mentally calculating.

"All we need is a place where we can set up our tents and picket the horses. We have not come completely unprepared, my lord," I said. "We have brought some means of shelter, and enough food that we will not infringe on the hospitality of your people."

Dúnhere was silent, deep in thought, and I shifted my weight impatiently as I waited for his reply. "The Firienfeld is not occupied at the time and there is plenty of room atop the mountain. Shall we accompany you to help you make camp?" he finally answered.

"That would be greatly appreciated," I answered. "Thank you." I curtsied quickly before we both remounted. Dúnhere led the way, followed by the three men who had accompanied him. I waited for everyone to pass before I started up the path.

This was not the first time I had climbed the road to the Firienfeld; I had accompanied my family on several visits to the valley. Despite this, I could not help but marvel at the ingenuity of the path leading up the mountain. It wound around in such a way that it was barely visible from the valley below. Every turn was marked by a crumbling, primitively carved figure that looked somewhat human. Freda looked at these fearfully and turned towards me, wide-eyed. "Lady Éowyn, is this mountain haunted?" she asked, speaking in a whisper as if she believed her voice would awaken the statues.

"Now where would you get an idea like that?" I asked, though in the shadows created by the setting sun, I could see how her imagination would bring the figures to life.

"Hildelith said that it was," she said. "And they look like monsters."

"They are only stones, Freda. They cannot hurt you," I said, smiling to reassure her. She was satisfied with this answer and turned her eyes back to the road ahead, though she still watchd the statues warily.

_But what about the Dimholt Road?_ I wondered, and just as quickly dismissed it. The Paths of the Dead were a legend, nothing more—at least, I thought so. And there was no need to frighten the child with such tales. _And so were Halflings, yet you have heard reports of them in your lands just days ago,_ my mind silently arguedI shivered a little at this thought; if this legend could come to life, then there was nothing to prevent the tales of the Haunted Mountain from being true as well.

My hand unconsciously went to the hilt of my sword as we ascended the last few feet of the path before the Firienfeld spread out before us, dark in the gathering twilight. I could see the black mountain-cliff towering high above the field, blocking out much of the sky above and all of the last rays of sun. I could not make out any features of stone or see if there was indeed an opening leading into the cliff, but it made me shiver a bit nonetheless. Indeed, it seemed that all of the Rohirrim were anxious at the sight; the people huddled to the right of the path, as far away from the cliffs as possible. Even the horses stamped and whinnied nervously.

Maeglith appeared by my side, Fréalaf toddling beside her. I wordlessly helped Freda pull her legs over to one side of the horse. Maeglith helped her dismount, and the child took her hand and looked around, still wide-eyed. "Thank you, Éowyn," Maeglith said quietly. I nodded, then rode over to Dúnhere.

"How would you wish this to be organized, my lady?" he asked as he saw me.

I looked around. "We will have as many of the people as possible on the right side of the path." I knew that they would want to be as far away from the darkness of the Dwimorberg as possible, and the field was wider there anyway. "The tents for the King, when he returns, will be on the left side. The wagons will stay on that side as well."

He nodded. "That sounds reasonable," he said. The field soon became a flurry of activity, with everyone that was capable of working helping to pitch tents, unload wagons or keep the children who were too young to help out of the way. I worked just as hard as any of them, perhaps harder since it seemed that anything that needed to be decided was brought to me for approval. Torches and cook-fires were lit, and we continued to work under the ever-darkening sky until shelter had been set up for all who had come. Despite the labor, the atmosphere was subdued, as if we feared to make too much noise lest we awaken whatever evil lay trapped within the shadowy walls above us.

_It is merely your imagination, _I told myself sternly. _There is nothing there. _At least I hoped not.

-------

I pulled up on Windfola's reins as I reached the summit of the hill and looked around. A field spread out before me, flatter than any plain I had seen in Rohan and blanketed with rippling grass and wildflowers of every color imaginable. In the distance, I could see the silver ribbon of a river winding away in its path toward the sea. A city unlike any I had seen before, though I had heard tales of it all my life, towered above the valley. It looked as if it had been carved from the mountains surrounding it and was built in a series of walled sections; at the very top was a shining tower with unfurled banners fluttering in the wind. The entire city shone like a pearl in the early morning sun.

I turned to see Aragorn next to me, mounted on a chestnut-colored horse. "It is a beautiful sight, is it not?" I said, smiling at him.

His grey eyes sparkled as he smiled back at me, and the sight caused my pulse to quicken. "It is," he said. "Yet it pales in comparison to your beauty, my lady."

I could feel myself blushing. "My lord, you flatter me too much. Surely I am not worthy of such high praise."

His only reply was to smile kindly at me as he dismounted, then reached up and helped me down, his hands holding me lightly at the waist as mine rested on his shoulders. My feet touched the ground, and he took both of my hands gently in one of his hands as my eyes locked with his. His other hand reached up and touched my cheek, then tilted my chin up a little. Then my eyes closed as he moved closer…

I could feel the sunlight dancing across my eyelids as I waited, but nothing happened. After a long moment, I reluctantly opened my eyes and let out a muffled groan. Aragorn, the field and the city were gone; in its place, I could see creamy canvas billowing gently above me and the rough edges of the blankets I had piled on the ground within my tent in an attempt to make the sleeping arrangements more comfortable.

It was the fourth morning since our arrival, and every morn I had awoken from similar dreams. Aragorn would never say much, although I could see his love for me shining in his eyes. Then he would lean in to kiss me, but I always awoke before his lips touched mine.

I loved him; I no longer doubted that at all, and was always disappointed to wake up and find him gone. But these dreams, as well as the feelings that caused them, left me feeling strangely unsettled as well. The only cause I could think of was that there was nothing to prove that he felt the same way about me. I knew a kiss was not proof of love; Wormtongue had proved that to me well enough, and I pulled the blankets up further to try to block out the chill I felt at the memory.

_When he comes back, then perhaps I will know_, I decided, and brightened up at this thought. After all, I had not known him very long. But he would soon return after the battle, and I would be able to speak more with him then.

"Perhaps he might even come today," I murmured to myself. Men had ridden into the valley the day before, bringing word from Gandalf himself that the battle had ended and our people had been victorious. Though I did not yet know the details of what had happened, I did know that my uncle and brother were both alive and well, as were Aragorn and his companions.

Despite this good news, the men had come back clearly shaken. They spoke of some kind of winged shadow that had passed over Edoras, nearly landing atop the Golden Hall and filling them with paralyzing fear. We had increased the watch around the Firienfeld as a result, but had seen nothing out of the ordinary.

In spite of the talk of war and shadow, my heart felt light as I arose and dressed for the day. Against all hope, my uncle had returned to his senses, my brother's place restored, my tormentor had been banished, and we had won a great victory. And I was in love. With an almost giddy optimism, I was certain that whatever darkness lay ahead would also be defeated.

I pulled on my heavy wool cloak before leaving the tent. The mountains were still quite cold, and since Gandalf had advised us not to light fires lest we attract unwanted attention, there was really no way to keep warm. The mail that I had continued to wear since our arrival in Dunharrow did not help matters much there either, but since I had spent much of the last several days watching for any possible attack, I did not wish to be caught unprepared if one came.

The atmosphere in the camp was just as chilly as the air. Although we were glad of the victory, the refugees were growing anxious to know whether their loved ones would return this time. The messengers had brought rumor of another war awaiting us in the East as well, and this additional threat did not help matters much. People greeted me with nods as I walked past, but did not smile. The children were subdued as well, and fear of the Dwimorberg kept them close to the camp. Even the horses were restless and stamped nervously from their picket lines.

I headed over to the small cluster of tents in the main part of the camp where Hanna had set up a makeshift kitchen for the encampment. I had put Hanna in charge of the meals, and most of the other women were taking it in turns to help her. Thankfully, I had escaped this task; the last time she had attempted to teach me to cook, Éomer had made the mistake of trying the stew I made and had been sick for the rest of the day. I grabbed a small loaf of some flat bread and walked over towards one of the guards that had been on duty during the night. He sat with his back leaning against a rock near the edge of the cliff overlooking the valley.

"Have you seen anything?" I asked.

"Nothing, not even a bird in the sky. It is not natural," he replied. Then he lowered his voice and added, "Although, I must admit that I am relieved to see nothing, after yesterday."

I nodded; he had been one of the men who had returned from Edoras the day before who had seen the "winged Shadow," as they called it. "Go and rest, then; surely you have earned it. I will keep watch for awhile."

"Thank you, my lady," he said, standing up stiffly and bowing before walking towards the tents. Dúnhere had sent several of his men to help us guard the camp, but I and a few other women had been determined to help. They had finally ceased to argue with us about it when the men had been sent to Edoras. I sat down by the rock and began my silent watch over the valley.

The guard had been right; nothing was happening. It soon grew rather dull and I allowed my thoughts to wander back to Aragorn until, once more, my musings were interrupted as I saw what looked like a great number of horsemen riding up the valley towards us.

I jumped to my feet and ran over to Windfola. I saw one of the older girls standing nearby and called to her. She looked startled for a moment, then said, "Yes, my lady?"

"I need you to go over there," I pointed to where I had just been sitting, "and keep an eye on the road. If you see a group of riders approaching and I do not return, I need you to alert the others in the camp and tell them to prepare to fight. Can you do this?"

"Of course, my lady," she said, running over to the rock. I saddled Windfola as quickly as I could, then mounted and began the descent down the mountain.

As I drew closer, I breathed a sigh of relief to see white horses on green banners, the mark of my own people. Nevertheless, I rode to the fords, where Dúnhere's men were still guarding the crossing. I was greeted with a few nods; if they still had any reservations about my being in charge of the camp, they kept their thoughts to themselves.

"What is happening? Has the King returned?" I asked.

One of the older men, Ránulf, shook his head. "No, my lady. The King sent word asking that the Riders be gathered from the other towns. These are the first of them."

So there will be another battle. The thought dampened my spirits a great deal. Once again, I would be left behind while the men were winning glory in the defense of our people, though my love for my country was just as strong. And there was nothing I could do about it. I automatically shifted back into the role that had been pushed on me and asked, "Where will they be staying?"

"In the valley," Ránulf asked. "Lord Dúnhere has made all of the arrangements."

"Thank you," I said, and turned Windfola back up the mountain path. "Good day," I called out almost as an afterthought.

The girl whom I had asked to watch greeted me when I reached the camp again. "Is everything all right, my lady?"

"All is well. It is our army that gathers in the valley," I answered. "Thank you for your time." The girl curtsied and went to rejoin her friends, and I was left alone with my darkening thoughts again.

* * *

_**A/N: Though it's not a major change, I did revamp the interaction between Éowyn and Dúnhere in this one-- I realized in the editing process that, since they were both of the nobility and both close kin of Marshals, Dúnhere would probably be more respectful of Éowyn's taking charge of the Edoras refugees than he came off in the original version.**_

**_Reposted 4-17-07_**


	8. Chapter 8: Hope Fails

**Chapter 8- Hope Fails**

Chapter 8- Hope Fails

For the remainder of the day, I continued to watch as the valley below me turned into a military encampment. Watching them made me painfully aware of my own inactivity, and I felt as if I would go mad if I was not given some task to do, something more meaningful than watching over the daily tasks of the refugee camp.

The sun had sunk past the mountains when I saw a lone rider coming up the path. I quickly hurried to meet him as he dismounted, eager for the report. "Tála, what news?" I called out as I recognized the rider.

"Lord Aragorn is approaching with a group of men; Rangers of the North, I believed them to be. He will be here shortly."

"How many? And what of the King and Éomer?" I asked even as my heart leapt into my throat at the thought of Aragorn's imminent arrival.

"About thirty-five, my lady. And I have heard no word of the King."

"Thank you, Tála," I said. He bowed and we parted ways. I hurried over to the small group of women clustered about the only fire. "Hanna," I called out as I spotted her, "We have guests approaching, nearly two score of them. Is there any food that can be set out in haste?"

"We have some food left over from the evening meal, and I can boil some more meat quickly enough," she said. "Is the King returning then?"

"No, it is Lord Aragorn," I said. "I have had no word on when Théoden is to return."

"He will be here soon, my lady," she said, trying to reassure me. I thanked her and rushed back to my tent to find something suitable to wear for Aragorn's arrival. Although most of the clothes I had brought were better suited for riding or completing daily chores around the camp, I had also packed my favorite white gown, though I had no good reason for doing so. I dressed quickly, then unbraided and brushed my hair, twisted some of it up and tied it away from my face, and took a deep breath in a futile attempt to calm myself.

I left the tent and walked over to the edge of camp. In the last traces of daylight, I was barely able to make out a dark line of riders beginning the ascent up the path. At the pace they were riding, it would not take long at all for them to arrive. I paced around nervously, trying to plan what I would say to Aragorn when he arrived. _These conversations are so much easier in my head!_ I thought in frustration.

"My lady?" I turned to see Hanna. "The meal is ready."

"Thank you," I said. "See that it is brought to the pavilion and that the long tables are set up." She curtsied and left. I briefly felt a stab of guilt at not helping her this time, but told myself that propriety demanded that I stay at my post so I could greet the guests. The darkness deepened, and torches were lit. Several nearby people began to gather near the path, curious to hear any information that the newcomers might bring. Finally, I could see the dark shapes of the first of the riders at the top of the path that led into our encampment.

The men at the front of the column dismounted, and in the flickering torchlight I could see Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli, along with three other men. As they stepped closer, I could see that those who accompanied him were actually a man and two other Elves. The man looked akin to Aragorn, with dark hair cropped at his shoulders and the same clear gaze. I guessed that the Elves must be kinsmen as well; they looked nearly identical with dark hair and piercing grey eyes. Realizing that I had not yet greeted them, I stepped forward and curtsied, smiling at them. "Lord Aragorn," I said, my gaze catching his, "it is an honor to have you here. And you also, my lords," I said, glancing over the others with him. "Food and drink have been prepared for you in the pavilion, and we will see that your horses are cared for as well." At this, several of the older men and young women stepped forward to take the horses as the others with him dismounted, and began to lead them a little further from the main encampment, where the grass grew thickly and few horses had been pastured yet.

"I thank you for your pains, my lady," Aragorn said, nodding in acknowledgement. "Will you be joining us at supper?"

I smiled brightly at the invitation, but did not want to appear too eager. "If that is your wish, my lord," I answered. It seemed to me that he hesitated for just a moment, but as he nodded his assent, I decided it had just been my imagination. I fell in step beside him, with Legolas and Gimli on his other side and the others behind him. We walked in silence for a few moments, until I was unable to restrain my curiosity any longer. "What of the King, and my brother? And where is Gandalf?" I could not help noticing the wizard's absence.

Gimli answered this time. "Théoden and Éomer are both well, and send their greetings. They will be here by nightfall two days from now." I smiled in relief.

As we entered the tent, Aragorn said, "A friend of mine will be accompanying them—one of the Halflings of the North, named Meriadoc Brandybuck. He has sworn fealty to Théoden and has been received as a sword-thain." An amused grin flashed across my face at that. Aragorn noted this and added, "I assure you, my lady, his heart and courage are much greater than his stature would lead one to believe, as it is with all of the Shire-folk that I have had the privilege to journey with recently."

"I apologize, my lord," I said, feeling a little guilty for being so quick to dismiss the Halfling as a warrior. After all, how many times had I been similarly discouraged? "I will see that he is looked after."

"If it is possible, I would also see him armed for battle," Aragorn requested.

"I will do my best, though I do not know if we have gear to fit him." I paused, then decided to change the subject. "Who are all these men that have come with you, my lord?" I asked.

"They are Dúnedain from the North. This is my kinsman, Halbarad," he answered, motioning to the dark-haired man, who bowed his head in greeting. "And these are the sons of Lord Elrond of Rivendell, Elladan and Elrohir." The Elves nodded politely. "We met them as we were returning to Edoras, and they will be riding with me."

I glanced back over the line of men following us. Even in the dim light, I could tell that they were experienced warriors. "That is good tidings," I said, smiling as I felt my spirits rise. Every additional blade that would be going to the battle strengthened my hopes.

Aragorn glanced over at me, but did not respond for awhile. Finally, as we reached the pavilion he asked, "And how did your people fare on their journey, Lady Éowyn?"

"It was a difficult journey for many of them," I answered. "There were many young children and elderly people unused to traveling such a distance, but we all arrived safely." I pushed aside the flap covering the entrance to the tent, then turned back and looked at him. "Thank you for your concern," I said softly.

We entered and took our places around the two long tables. As the guest of honor, I had placed Aragorn at the head, and Legolas and Gimli on his right. I sat on the left side a few seats down, next to Halbarad, with the Elven brothers on his other side. The remainder of the company found seats, and we all sat down as food and drink were brought to us. Hanna led the serving women as usual, and I smiled at her as I caught her eye.

The men ate in silence for a long while, and it seemed to me that some shadow lay over them. Aragorn in particular seemed troubled, and his brow was furrowed in deep thought as he ate. I finally asked softly, "Is something troubling you, my lord?"

Aragorn's head jerked up, as one waking suddenly from a dream. Then he relaxed slightly but did not smile. "Nay, my lady. Forgive me for my rudeness."

"No, Lord Aragorn," I protested. "I am sure you are weary and I do not wish to burden you with unwanted conversation." I glanced down as I said this, feeling awkward.

To my relief, Gimli set down his goblet and said, "Well I, for one, am weary of the silence. Come, Lady Éowyn, tell us how things fare in the camp."

"There is really not much to tell," I said, silently adding, _I would bore myself to sleep if I have to talk about it. _"If it is not too much trouble, my lords, I would rather hear of the battle. The tidings of it that have reached us here have been few." This seemed to be a safe enough topic, and Gimli and Legolas spent much of the rest of the meal telling me of their experiences at Helm's Deep. I heard of the assault on the gates, a strange new weapon that the Orcs were somehow able to use to blast holes in the wall, and the subsequent retreat into the Hornburg and the Deep. Gimli had been with my brother during much of the battle, and my heart swelled with pride as Gimli told me how Éomer had almost single-handedly held the Deep against the oncoming horde. Legolas then told me of the King's decision to lead the final charge at dawn and the coming of Gandalf and Erkenbrand.

"His men wanted him to stay in the Hornburg where he would be safer, but he would have none of it—he said he would rather die facing the enemy than trapped like an animal in a cage," the Elf finished.

"Any of my people would have said the same," I said. "There is more honor to be found in death fighting your enemies than living in hiding, waiting to be hunted down and slaughtered like beasts." I looked down at my hands for a moment as I thought bitterly, _an honor that you are only allowed if you are a man. _Aragorn, who had been silent throughout the entire meal, glanced up at me sharply as I said this, but said nothing.

I noticed that the conversation had slowed quite a bit, and the men that had come with him had almost finished eating. "Lords, you are weary and shall now go to your beds with such ease as can be contrived in haste. But tomorrow fairer housing shall be found for you," I said, thinking it would probably be best to change the topic of conversation.

"Nay, lady," Aragorn replied, "Be not troubled for us! If we may lie here tonight and break our fast tomorrow, it will be enough. For I ride on an errand most urgent, and with the first light of morning we must go."

"Then it was kindly done, lord, to ride so many miles out of your way to bring tidings to Éowyn, and to speak with her in her exile," I said.

"Indeed, no man would count such a journey wasted," he said, and I smiled warmly at the compliment. My smile quickly faded, however, as he continued: "And yet, lady, I could not have come here, if it were not that the road which I must take leads me to Dunharrow."

_No. It cannot be._ "Then, lord, you are astray, for out of Harrowdale no road runs east or south, and you had best return as you came." I fervently hoped that my face did not betray the sudden cold dread that I felt.

"Nay, lady," he said. "I am not astray, for I walked in this land ere you were born to grace it." I felt a slight hint of resentment at the implication that I was merely a child, but did not have a chance to ponder any further meaning behind those words. I felt an icy dread upon me as he continued, knowing what his next words would be. "There is a road out of the valley, and that road I shall take. Tomorrow I shall ride by the Paths of the Dead."

It seemed to me that all faded into silence at those words, and that all eyes were turned upon Aragorn and myself. I could do nothing more than stare at him for a long moment. His grey eyes looked back at me with a clear resolve. I clenched my hands together upon my lap to hide their trembling. My mind recalled every dark tale I had ever heard of that road as I desperately fumbled for whatever words I could come up with that might possibly dissuade him. "But Aragorn," I stammered at last, "is it then your errand to seek death? For that is all that you will find on that road. They do not suffer the living to pass."

"They may suffer me to pass, but at the very least I will venture it. No other road will serve," he said quietly.

"But this is madness!" I exclaimed, not caring that my voice was rising in panic. "Here are men of renown and prowess, whom you should not take into the shadows, but should lead to war, where men are needed." My gaze left him for a moment as I motioned to the rest of those assembled there. Gimli lowered his eyes; Legolas looked back at me with the same determination that I had seen on Aragorn's face. Though the other men gathered looked apprehensive, I could also see in their eyes that they would willingly follow wherever Aragorn led, even to their own doom. "I beg you to remain and ride with my brother," I said in a more quiet tone, "for then all our hearts will be gladdened, and our hope be the brighter."

"It is not madness, lady, for I go on a path appointed," he replied in a tone that clearly said that he was unwilling to argue about it any further. "But those who follow me do so of their free will, and if they wish now to remain and ride with the Rohirrim, they may do so. But I shall take the Paths of the Dead—alone, if needs be."

I lowered my gaze, knowing that if I said any more at the moment I would cross the line. The men resumed their murmured conversations shortly, but I remained in a numb silence. Once I dared to look up again, I watched Aragorn's face, searching desperately for any possible doubt that could be used to convince him of the folly of this idea. I could find none. _There must be some way to convince him,_ I thought. I could not stand by and watch him throw his life away; we needed every blade we could possibly get to have even a chance of winning the next battle. But as I watched, my hopes crumbled.

Aragorn finally stood up, and I rose with the others. "I thank you for your hospitality, Lady Éowyn, but I must take my leave. We have far to ride tomorrow," he said, bowing. I curtsied automatically as the others bowed and slowly left the tent.

I stayed behind until all had left, then slowly walked out of the tent. The Dúnedain for the most part had already scattered, disappearing into the tents we had set up for them. I could still see Aragorn, about to enter the tent that he was sharing with Legolas and Gimli. I hesitated for a moment, then decided I had to try again. "Lord Aragorn?" I called. He turned and looked at me gravely as I continued. "Aragorn, why will you go on this deadly road?"

"Because I must," he said. "Only so can I see any hope of doing my part in the war against Sauron." I frowned at this; to speak of this path leading to hope did not make any sense to me at all. He seemed to sense this, but continued nonetheless. "I do not choose paths of peril, Éowyn. Were I to go where my heart dwells, far in the North I would now be, wandering in the fair valley of Rivendell."

_Rivendell? The Elf-realm? What could possibly be there?_ I wondered. I looked up into his face, searching for an answer but saw none, save the determination in his eyes. He would go through with this no matter what I said, I realized. A new idea quickly formed in my mind as I semiconsciously laid a hand on his arm. "You are a stern lord and resolute, and thus do men win renown," I said, half to myself. I paused a moment. The idea was desperate, I knew, but I could not stand by and watch him ride to his doom. "Lord, if you must go, then let me ride in your following. For I am weary of skulking in the hills, and wish to face peril and battle."

He looked surprised for a moment, but quickly masked it. "Your duty is with your people," he finally said.

I frowned. "Too often have I heard of duty," I said, indignant. "But am I not of the house of Eorl, a shieldmaiden and not a dry-nurse? I have waited on faltering feet long enough." _All my life I have done nothing but wait, _I thought bitterly. "Since they falter no longer, it seems, may I not now spend my life as I will?"

"Few may do that with honor," he admitted, softening for a moment. Then a look crossed his face that I recognized all too well, and I frowned even more to see it. "But as for you, lady, did you not accept the charge to govern the people until their lord's return?"

"I had no choice," I muttered under my breath.

If he heard, he made no sign of it as he continued: "If you had not been chosen, then some marshal or captain would have been set in the same place, and he could not ride away from his charge, were he weary of it or no."

I knew his words made sense, but I was past being moved by a sense of unwanted duty. "Shall I always be chosen?" I cried, unable to keep the bitterness and frustration from my voice any longer. "Shall I always be left behind when the Riders depart, to mind the house while they win renown, and find food and beds when they return?"

He looked a little taken aback at my outburst. "A time may come soon when none will return," he said, his gaze growing steely. "Then there will be need of valor without renown, for none shall remember the deeds that are done in the last defense of your homes. Yet the deeds will not be less valiant because they are unpraised."

Anger burned within me at this. "All your words are but to say: you are a woman, and your part is in the house. But when the men have died in battle and honor, you have leave to be burned in the house, for the men will need it no more." I lifted my head defiantly as I continued. "But I am of the House of Eorl and not a serving-woman. I can ride and wield blade, and I do not fear either pain or death."

"What do you fear, my lady?" he asked, more gently this time.

My eyes flashed as I tried not to glare at him. "A cage. To stay behind bars until use and old age accept them, and all chance of doing great deeds is gone beyond recall or desire." _All I want is a chance to prove that I could be of some value to my people; can he not grant me even that? _I thought bitterly.

"And yet you counseled me not to venture on the road that I had chosen, because it is perilous?" His tone held no trace of mockery, which made it sting all the more.

"So may one counsel another," I answered. "Yet I do not bid you flee from peril, but to ride to battle where your sword may win renown and victory. I would not see a thing that is high and excellent cast away needlessly." I looked earnestly up at him in a last effort to make him understand.

"Nor would I," he said, his eyes softening. "Therefore I say to you, lady: Stay! For you have no errand to the South."

For a moment I wavered, my eyes locked with his. My gaze dropped first. "Neither have those others who go with you," I blurted. "They go only because they would not be parted from you—because they love you!" The blood drained from my face as I realized what I had just said, and I glanced up at him, suddenly afraid of his reaction. And in that moment, I knew how he truly felt about me. Instead of the love and understanding that I had longed to see, I saw sorrow in his eyes, mingled with pity. A sick feeling settled in my stomach as I stepped back, then whirled around and fled without another word.

Tears stung my eyes as I headed towards my own tent. _Fool!_ I berated myself. _I knew this would happen… of course he would not love me. How could I be worthy of that from a man like him? _

"He cannot return your love, lady," a voice said softly. So akin were the words to my own thoughts that it took me a moment to realize that someone else had spoken them. Then for a terrible moment, I thought that perhaps Wormtongue had somehow found the encampment and had come back to torment me once more. Without thinking, I swiftly pulled out the concealed dagger that I still wore and called out, "Who goes there?"

"Elladan, son of Elrond, my lady," the voice answered. I whirled around to see one of the dark-haired Elves that had accompanied the Rangers looking at me, and my jaw clenched in anger to see pity in his eyes as well.

"You were listening?" I cried out as I felt my face grow hot.

"I could not help overhearing," the Elf said. I glared at him as he added, "But fear not; you spoke softly enough that any mortal could not have heard you." His words did nothing to ease my humiliation, but the anger quickly faded into disbelief as he added, "My lady, he is already betrothed to another."

"He…what?" I asked, completely in shock and feeling even more foolish. "He never spoke of it." I knew I would regret the question as soon as it passed my lips, but continued regardless, "Who is she?"

Was it my imagination, or did a brief look of pain cross his face? "Her name is Arwen—my sister."

I stepped back, feeling suddenly weak. "But… you are an Elf!"

"Yes, I _am_ aware of that," he said with more than a hint of sarcasm. My face flushed even deeper. "Believe me, lady, part of me does wish that he would return your affections. I do not relish the idea of my sister dying because of him."

"Dying?" I echoed.

"If she chooses to remain with him, she will die in Middle-Earth as a mortal. If she leaves him, she will die of a broken heart," Elladan said. "Either way, she is lost to us."

"And yet you are still willing to ride with Aragorn," I stated.

"He is like a brother to me," he said. "If she must fall in love with a mortal, there is no other man that I would choose." His gaze remained steady as he looked at me. "I am sorry that you had to find out in this manner."

"Not as sorry as I am," I replied softly, then turned and walked away as my vision blurred with tears.

* * *

_**A/N: Again, some of Tolkien's words have been slightly rephrased here for the flow.**_

**_Reposted 4/18/07_**


	9. Chapter 9: Desperation

**Chapter 9- Desperation**

I could not sleep that night. I lay on my back inside my tent, my eyes stinging with tears that I would not allow to fall. I felt torn between anger and sorrow—why had he not told me that he was already betrothed?

_He did tell you, when he said he would rather be in Rivendell._ The thought made me feel even more foolish than I had before. "I should have known," I whispered into the darkness. A man like him would have been able to win over the heart of any maiden; how could I not have guessed that another may already have captured his heart?

_Who would take you? For fair you are, yet cold… _

I could feel myself trembling at the memory of Gríma's words and pulled the blanket more tightly around me, wondering if it was the cold mountain air or my broken heart that left me feeling so numb. And I wondered about the Elf-maiden. Undoubtedly she was beautiful, with a flawless complexion and soft, gentle hands. My own hand, calloused and rough from a lifetime of gripping reins and sword hilts, reached up to brush away a lone tear that trickled down my lightly freckled face. I could feel the skin peeling off my nose, burned from spending the days since my arrival in Dunharrow out in the sun and wind. She was probably gentle and kind, the type who would be content to mind the house while he was out on the battlefield. I was sure she would never have even entertained the thought of fighting beside him—a perfect lady in every way. Unlike me.

I knew I could never make him love me, nor did I want to; I would have him love me freely, not out of a sense of obligation or pity. _But then, pity is all any man would ever feel for me, _I thought._ No one could ever truly love a cold-hearted shieldmaiden. _

I rolled over, trying to shut out my despairing thoughts and wondering what I should do. I remembered Aragorn's talk of duty; perhaps my duty was to offer hope to my people, even if every fragile hope I had held for myself was destroyed. He had not yet gone, and perhaps I could still convince him to wait and ride with Théoden.

_If nothing else, he might still allow me to follow him. _With this thought, I rose from my bed and dug through my belongings until I found a split skirt and tunic. I shed my dress and pulled these on with the mail shirt over top. I quickly tied my hair back with a leather cord, pulled on my boots and cloak, and strapped on my sword belt. I slung the shield I had carried over my shoulder, and picked up Windfola's saddle and bridle before leaving the tent.

Dawn was not far off, though the first grey light of morning had not yet touched the overcast sky as I walked to the main pavilion. I knew that Aragorn and his company would be leaving shortly, and already men were making preparations in the section of the camp where the Dúnedain had stayed. For the moment, I left Windfola without his tack; I could saddle him up quickly enough, and duty demanded that I bring the cup of parting to Aragorn before he left.

I poured the wine with trembling hands, then took the cup in both hands to keep it steady as I walked back out. I could see Aragorn standing by his horse; the others had all mounted while I was inside. He was about to pull himself into the saddle when I softly called, "Lord Aragorn?"

He turned, and looked surprised to see me dressed as I was but did not say anything. I drank a little sip from the cup, and could taste the bitterness of the wine as it burned my throat. "Westu hál, my lord," I said. It took all of my strength to keep my voice from trembling, and tears began to prick my eyes as I looked on him.

He took the cup from my hand and drank, then handed it back to me. "Farewell, Lady of Rohan!" he said. "I drink to the fortunes of your House, and of you, and of all your people. Say to your brother, beyond the shadows we may meet again!" His voice held no trace of doubt in it, and I knew then that nothing I could say would change his mind.

My vision blurred, and I blinked hard in an effort to prevent the tears from spilling out. "Aragorn, will you go?" I asked, my voice catching in my throat.

"I will."

"Then will you not let me ride with this company, as I have asked?" My hand clenched so tightly around the goblet that I could see my knuckles whitening.

"I will not, lady." His voice was flat and left no room for argument. "For that I could not grant without leave of the King and your brother; and they will not return until tomorrow. But I count now every hour, indeed every minute. Farewell!"

I fell to my knees, and the cup fell from my hand, spilling the last few drops of wine on the ground. "I beg you!" I said, a single tear escaping at last.

"Nay, lady," he said softly, and took my hand to pull me back to my feet.

Even through my sorrow, I could still feel my heart pounding at his touch. As his eyes met mine, I whispered, "Please, Aragorn! My people need you!" I could not quite stifle the silent cry in my mind that _I _needed him as well.

He looked down on me sadly as he raised me to my feet. "Forgive me, my lady. I cannot give you what you seek." The hidden meaning to his words was not lost on me, and I felt a bitter chill as he lightly kissed my hand and turned away.

He never looked back. I stood frozen, unable to turn away as he led his men through the double row of standing stones that marked the entrance to the Dwimorberg. He and the horse he rode vanished into mist and shadow, followed by the horse that Legolas and Gimli shared. One by one, the Dúnedain followed until all had disappeared. As the last horse moved beyond my sight, the spell keeping me bound there was broken, and I turned and ran. None of my people had come to see them off, their fear of the haunted mountain keeping them in their tents, and so no one saw as I tripped and fell, pushed myself back to my feet, and stumbled the rest of the way to my tent. I let the sword and shield fall to the ground, and collapsed facedown onto the cot. Then I wept until I fell into a restless sleep.

-------

If anyone noticed that I was troubled, no one spoke of it directly to me. Now that it was known that the men would be returning from the battle, an air of excitement mingled with apprehension fell over the camp as people began to grow weary of waiting for news of their loved ones. Men from the Harrowdale also came, bearing reports of strange things happening in the valley below us; I heard more than one whisper as I passed that the news coming from the valley was undoubtedly the cause of the troubled look on my face. I was able to keep myself occupied for the most part with preparing lodging for the King and his officers and other camp duties. Despite my efforts to keep busy, I could not stop my eyes from filling with tears whenever I looked over at the Dwimorberg, but forced my sorrow back as quickly as I could. I would not allow the others in the camp to see my weakness, lest I caused them to lose whatever hope they may yet have possessed.

It was late in the afternoon on the next day when I was finally able to fulfill Aragorn's last request, for arms to be prepared for his Halfling friend. After digging through the piles of gear in the tent we had set up as a makeshift armory, I managed to find a small leather tunic and shield—if I remembered correctly, they had belonged to my cousin as a boy, then had been passed down to Éomer in the first days of his formal combat training.

I turned my attention to finding a helmet that might be small enough to fit. I knelt down and began shifting helmets from one pile to another. As I picked up one to move it, I noticed that except for two openings for eyes, the entire upper portion of the wearer's face would be obscured. I moved to set it into the growing pile of discarded helmets, then hesitated and looked around to ensure that I was alone.

I drew my sword and propped it up against the helmets to act as a makeshift mirror, then pushed my braid over my shoulder and put the helmet on. Though the image was distorted in the steel, with the mail-shirt that I wore, the figure that looked back at me appeared to be a young man, who had not yet grown a beard.

_This is madness! _I thought as I pulled the helmet off and let it fall to the ground with a clatter. The men of Rohan were not fools, and a woman could never pass for a warrior in their ranks. I went back to my task of finding gear for Meriadoc with a frustrated sigh. Still, even after all had been gathered, I could not bring myself to put the helmet back with the others and set it with the Halfling's armor.

I heard the sound of trumpets and left the tent to see the sun sinking behind the mountains. In the rapidly fading daylight, I saw a blur of activity in the field below, with one line of Riders beginning to ascend the path. The King of the Mark had returned at last.

I hurried over to Windfola and put on his tack. By the time I was mounted, the group had nearly reached the top of the path but I rode towards them nevertheless. As I drew closer, I could see Théoden leading the way atop Snowmane, and a pony trotting beside the stallion. The figure riding the pony looked like a young boy at first, with a mass of curly hair and bare feet. As they drew closer, I could see that his face looked older, though he was still no taller than one of our children. _That must be Meriadoc,_ I thought, turning my curious stare away from the Halfling. Éomer was close behind, a grave look on his face. My uncle turned from the road and spotted me.

"Hail, Lord of the Mark!" I called, forcing a smile as I pulled Windfola up beside them. "My heart is glad at your returning."

"And you, Éowyn?" my uncle asked, looking at me closely. "Is all well with you?"

I glanced away, hoping my eyes wouldn't give me away. "All is well," I said softly, trying to convince myself as much as him. I swallowed hard, then looked back at him and repeated, "All is well. It was a weary road for the people to take, torn suddenly from their homes. There were hard words, for it is long since war has driven us from the green fields; but there have been no evil deeds. All is now ordered, as you see." I motioned to the rows of tents on the right side of the road. "And your lodging is prepared for you; for I have had full tidings of you and knew the hour of your coming."

"So Aragorn has come then!" Éomer said, the corner of his mouth twisting into a half-smile. "Is he still here?"

I looked away, shuddering involuntarily as I saw the entrance to the Dimholt. "No; he is gone," I stated.

"Where did he go?" Éomer's smile faded. The Halfling followed my gaze in fearful curiosity.

"I do not know. He came at night, and rode away yestermorn, ere the sun had climbed over the mountaintops. He is gone." My voice fell flat.

"You are grieved, daughter." I turned to see my uncle looking down on me, his gaze solemn but kind. "What has happened? Tell me, did he speak of that road? Of the Paths of the Dead?" He motioned towards the Dwimorberg as he spoke.

"Yes, lord, and he has passed into the shadow from which none have returned. I could not dissuade him…he is gone." I glanced down again, the weight of my failure pressing down on me.

I could see the glimmer of hope fading from my brother's eyes as he spoke. "Then our paths are sundered; he is lost." He sighed sadly and continued, "We must ride without him, and our hope dwindles."

We fell into silence until we reached the pavilion. People had gathered from the camp to greet the King and learn the fate of their loved ones, and I could hear a few cries of joy as families were reunited. I dismounted and was about to lead Windfola away, when I heard Éomer calling my name and turned.

"Éowyn, would you picket Firefoot? There is something I must do." He glanced away, and I followed his gaze to the edge of the crowd, where Maeglith had appeared with her two children in tow.

I looked up at him in alarm. "Éomer? Is Háma…" My voice trailed off, and he nodded sadly. "Oh no…" I whispered, then took the reins. "Go." He turned, and as I led the horses away I glanced back just in time to see Maeglith stumble back with a look of numb shock on her face as Éomer began to speak with her.

I led Firefoot and Windfola over to a grassy patch where a few picket lines were already driven into the ground, then tied up the two horses. Then I removed Firefoot's saddle and bridle, patting the brown stallion absently as he began to graze. I did the same for Windfola, then rubbed the two horses down, concentrating hard on my task in an attempt to block out my thoughts of Maeglith and all of the other women in the camp who would never again look upon the faces of the men they loved.

_And what about Freda? _I thought sadly as I headed back to the camp. I was more grieved at the thought of the little girl growing up with only faded memories of her father. _And if Maeglith's grief kills her, as it killed my mother... _Lost in thought, I was not paying attention to where I was going and ran into a small figure. He fell to the ground with a small groan. I looked down to see the Halfling that had accompanied my uncle earlier.

"Forgive me, I did not see you!" I exclaimed, kneeling down to help him up as I searched my memory for his name. "Please accept my apology, Master Brandybuck," I added, remembering just in time.

"Don't worry about it, my lady," he said, brushing off his jacket. Then he looked up at me, a little curiously. "You are the Lady Éowyn, are you not?" I nodded as he continued, "I have heard a great deal about you from the King and Lord Éomer."

"Please, just call me Éowyn," I requested, forcing a half-smile, even as I wondered what he had been told about me.

"On one condition," he said. I raised an eyebrow curiously. "I will call you Éowyn if you will simply call me Merry. I'm getting so tired of being called 'Master Brandybuck!' It's too much like what folks call my father back home."

My smile was more genuine this time; I liked the Halfling's straightforward manner. "All right, Merry," I replied. Merry accompanied me as I began to walk towards the pavilion; I could tell he was feeling out of place, and decided to try to make him more comfortable. "Where is your home?" I asked.

"My family lives in Buckland, by the Brandywine River in the Shire," he said. "It is far north and west of here, I am told. It's a very peaceful land…hobbits are not really the kind to go off on adventures." He sighed a little sadly.

"Hobbits?" I asked.

"Oh, yes, that is what we call ourselves," Merry explained. "Not too different from _holbytla_, I suppose—that is what I keep hearing the men of your people refer to me as."

"No, not very different at all," I agreed, before adding, "And you must have quite a tale to tell, having traveled so far to reach this land. I would like to hear it sometime."

He brightened up a little. "Really?"

I nodded. "The lands outside of the Mark are unknown to me, save in tales, and the Shire is a country I have never heard of before. But for now, would you do me the honor of escorting me to supper?"

He smiled and took my arm as well as he could, considering the difference in our heights. "The honor is mine, my lady," he said. We quickly crossed the remaining distance to the pavilion, and he released my arm and pulled the tent flap back, bowing gallantly. I could not help smiling briefly as he followed me in.

When I entered, Théoden was already sitting at the head of the small table with Éomer to his right and Dúnhere to his left. Merry moved to stand at the King's side, and I sat next to Éomer. No one seemed willing to speak, and it did not take long for me to become lost in thought once more.

We ate in silence for quite some time, with the Halfling waiting on the King until he was asked to sit down and join us. We were nearing the end of the meal when Merry finally spoke up. "Twice now, lord, I have heard of the Paths of the Dead. What are they? And where has Strider, I mean the Lord Aragorn, where has he gone?"

My heart sank even further at the mention of Aragorn. My uncle sighed sadly, and my brother pushed some food around his plate. Finally, Éomer said,. "We do not know, and our hearts are heavy. But as for the Paths of the Dead, you have yourself walked on their first steps." Merry looked frightened at his words, and glanced over at Théoden nervously. "Nay, I speak no words of ill omen!" Éomer added in an attempt to reassure the hobbit. "The road that we have climbed is the approach to the Door, yonder in the Dimholt. But what lies beyond, no man knows."

"No man knows," my uncle repeated in a low murmur. "Yet ancient legend, now seldom spoken, has somewhat to report." He glanced at me, and I looked down at my hands. "If these old tales speak true that have come down from father to son in the House of Eorl, then the Door under Dwimorberg leads to a secret way that goes beneath the mountain to some forgotten end. But none have ever ventured in to search its secrets, since Baldor, son of Brego, passed the Door and was never seen among men again. A rash vow he spoke, as he drained the horn at that feast which Brego made to hallow new-built Meduseld, and he came never to the high seat of which he was the heir."

The flames in the lamps set about the tent flickered as if a gust of cold wind had entered the tent. I could not help being reminded of the tales that Éomer and I would tell each other in the dark in an attempt to frighten each other when we were yet children. Théoden continued, "Folk say that Dead Men out of the Dark Years guard the way and will suffer no living man to come to their hidden halls; but at whiles they may themselves be seen passing out of the door like shadows and down the stony road. Then the people of Harrowdale shut fast their doors and shroud their windows and are afraid. But the Dead come seldom forth and only at times of great unquiet and coming death."

Dúnhere had remained silent throughout this time, but now glanced up at me. We silently debated who would tell of the reports from the valley for a moment. Finally, I said quietly, "Yet it is said in Harrowdale that in the moonless nights but little while ago a great host in strange array passed by. From where they came, none knew, but they went up the stony road and vanished into the hill, as if they went to keep a tryst."

"Then why has Aragorn gone that way?" Merry asked. He seemed genuinely frightened; his amber-brown eyes mirrored the cold dread that had been following me since Aragorn's departure. "Don't you know anything that would explain it?" He looked at me, pleading silently.

"Unless he has spoken words to you as his friend that we have not heard, none now in the land of the living can tell his purpose," Éomer said, unable to keep a note of bitterness out of his voice.

I gazed off distantly, Aragorn's face drifting into my mind. "Greatly changed he seemed to me since I saw him first in the king's house--grimmer, older," I said. "Fey I thought him, and like one whom the Dead call." I swallowed hard as a now-familiar lump began to rise in my throat again.

"Maybe he was called, and my heart tells me that I shall not see him again." My head jerked up at my uncle's words, and I felt a dark sense of foreboding. My uncle met my gaze; his eyes were sad, but filled with a calm sense of purpose. "Yet he is a kingly man of high destiny. And take comfort in this, daughter," he added gently, "since comfort you seem to need in your grief for this guest.

"It is said that when the Eorlingas came out of the North and passed at length up the Snowbourn, seeking strong places of refuge in time of need, Brego and his son Baldor climbed the Stair of the Hold and so came before the Door. On the threshold sat an old man, aged beyond guess of years; tall and kingly he had been, but now he was withered as an old stone. Indeed for stone they took him, for he moved not, and he said no word, until they sought to pass him by and enter. And then a voice came out of him, as it were out of the ground, and to their amazement it spoke in the western tongue: 'The way is shut.' Then they halted and looked at him and saw that he lived still, but he did not look at them. 'The way is shut,' his voice said again. 'It was made by those who are Dead, and the Dead keep it, until the time comes. The way is shut.' 'And when will that time be?' said Baldor. But no answer did he ever get. For the old man died in that hour and fell upon his face; and no other tidings of the ancient dwellers in the mountains have our folk ever learned."

I looked at him sadly. _What comfort is there in such a tale? _I thought grimly. He seemed to sense my confusion and added, "Yet maybe at last the time foretold has come, and Aragorn may pass."

I wanted to believe him, but could not. _More likely that he has already met his doom,_ I thought. _And his blood is on your head, since you failed to stop him. _

Éomer's thoughts seemed to mirror my own. "But how shall a man discover whether that time be come or no, save by daring the Door? And that way I would not go, though all the hosts of Mordor stood before me and I were alone and had no other refuge." He glanced down in obvious frustration. "Alas that a fey mood should fall on a man so greathearted in this hour of need! Are there not evil things enough abroad without seeking them under the earth? War is at hand!"

The conversation was abruptly cut off as we heard a commotion outside the tent; an unfamiliar voice called for the King while the guards challenged him. I decided to take the opportunity to make my retreat. "My lord, may I be excused? I would see to Maeglith." He nodded, and I left the tent, passing two unfamiliar dark-haired men as I crossed the path to reach the larger camp.

Though I was uncertain where her tent was, finding it turned out to be easier than I thought: I found Freda crouched in the shadows outside of a small tent off to the side. She was hugging her knees to her chest and resting her head on them. "Freda? What are you doing out here?" I asked, kneeling down beside her.

She turned her tear-streaked face towards me. "I do not like watching Mama cry," she said softly.

My stomach knotted painfully; her reaction was too similar to my own when my father had died. "I will try to talk to her," I replied.

She nodded silently, and I pulled aside the flap closing the tent. "Maeglith?" I called softly. The dim moonlight filtered through the canvas of the tent just enough to show Fréalaf asleep in the corner, and Maeglith lying curled up on her side, her shoulders shaking in silent sobs. When she didn't answer, I tried again. "Maeglith, it is Éowyn. May I come in?"

There was a long pause, then she said, "Yes, my lady." I ducked down to enter, then knelt beside the weeping woman. She reached out and gripped my hand tightly, and we sat like that in silence for a long time, since I could find no words to comfort her. Finally she whispered, "I wish I could just see him one last time."

"I know, Maeglith," I said softly. "He was a good man, and a good friend. We will all miss him."

She moved into a slightly different position, and for the first time I noticed she was clutching some cloth. At first I thought it was a blanket, then she smoothed it out and I realized it was one of Háma's tunics. "It is foolish, I know," she said. "I brought some of his things with me…I never thought he would not return." She began to weep again as she finished speaking.

I did not respond for a while. A foreboding chill settled over me. _Is this to be my fate also? _I wondered. _To stay behind and wait for the news of Théoden's and Éomer's fate?_ _I cannot do it, not this time._

I glanced away from Maeglith, a plan beginning to form in my mind. _They cannot stop me if they do not recognize me. _My eyes widened at the thought. Just as quickly, I remembered Aragorn's words to me the night before. _Your place is with your people,_ he had said. I knew what he had meant; when my uncle left, he would leave me in charge of the refugees again. _But the warriors are also my people, _I argued silently.

I suddenly realized that Maeglith's sobs had evened out into soft, even breathing. I left as silently as I could. Once I was outside, I took a deep breath in an attempt to clear my head of the dangerously treacherous thoughts that were taking shape. How could I even dare to think of disobeying the King's orders? If either he or Éomer found out, they would both be furious with me. Forcing my mind back to the present, I glanced around and saw Freda still by the side of the tent. The little girl had curled up on the ground and was fast asleep. _I cannot leave her there, _I thought with a sigh, and stooped down to pick her up. She stirred a bit but did not wake as I entered the tent and laid her next to her brother. I quietly covered her with a blanket and turned to leave once more.

I was almost back to my tent when I spotted Éomer at the edge of the camp facing the Dwimorberg, looking off into the darkness. I pulled my cloak a little tighter to try to ward off the cold, then walked over to him. "You should be resting," I said. "I am certain that you had a long ride today."

He jumped a bit in surprise, then relaxed as he looked over at me. "As should you," he replied. "You look as if you have not slept in days." I shrugged my shoulders noncommittally, though I could not remember the last night I had slept well. _Probably before Wormtongue came to Meduseld,_ I decided.

Éomer's brow furrowed as he studied my face. "Éowyn, will you be all right?" he finally asked.

"Of course I will. I just need a little rest, that is all," I lied, knowing full well that Éomer would not believe me.

"I worry about you, little sister," he replied, ignoring my answer. "I am worried about what will happen to you once I am gone."

Now it was my turn to frown as I looked up at him. "Do not be a fool, Éomer. You will not be gone long." I tried to sound confident, but could not halt the nagging doubt in my mind. _And if he does not return, what then? _

He seemed to read my thoughts. "I am not coming back, Éowyn," he said grimly. "None of us will, not this time. From what I am learning of the forces gathered against us, this is not a battle that can be won by the strength of Men, even if all the free peoples of the West were to unite against it. Even if we survive this battle, it will not take long for the Shadow to overtake us at last."

My eyes widened as I looked at him. Whatever had happened after I left, I could plainly see that my brother had lost all hope at last. "Éomer, what are you saying? You are frightening me."

He looked back at the dark mountain, his eyes hardening. "We ride for Gondor tomorrow morning. Minas Tirith is under attack, and the Lord Denethor calls for our aid. This will be the last battle. If Minas Tirith falls, it is over, and it is likely that the city will fall ere we even reach the Pelennor."

"Éomer, do not talk like that," I snapped. He raised an eyebrow at me, and my voice softened. "You will come back, you must." I glanced down, a lump rising in my throat. "You and Théoden are all I have left."

He moved a little closer and laid a hand on my arm. "I know."

We stood in silence for a moment. Then he frowned at the mountain again, looking rather thoughtful. "Whatever happened between you and Aragorn, you must let it go, Éowyn."

I pulled away abruptly. "What do you mean? Nothing happened." My voice was harsher than I intended.

"Then why did it seem you had been weeping when we arrived today?"

"I was just weary," I protested, glad that the darkness hid the embarrassment that colored my face.

"No, you were not." His voice was flat as he continued, "Just forget about him, Éowyn. He will not return either."

I looked away from him before abruptly blurting out, "He left a message for you." He glanced over, and I added, "He said to tell you that beyond the shadows you may meet him again."

Éomer snorted derisively. "It is madness to even think such things. No, little sister, he is gone. And we will ride out tomorrow to fight a battle we have no hope of winning."

I lifted my head defiantly. "Then I will go with you."

"No, you will not!" His eyes flashed in anger momentarily, then softened. "No. It will put me more at ease, knowing that at least you are safe for the moment."

"Do you think I care about that?" I protested. "How can you expect me to stay behind and do nothing? You could not when you heard of the orc raid."

"That was different," he said. "Fighting in a battle is not like practicing at the training ground, Éowyn. All that is needed is one false move, one moment of weakness, and it is over. Perhaps you can use a sword, but nothing can prepare you for the reality of war. At least if you remain here you have a better chance of defending yourself."

"If it is truly as you say, then nowhere is safe," I argued. "If I am to die regardless, I would have it be with you and our uncle."

"You will remain here, and that is final," Éomer replied, his voice strained. I opened my mouth to protest again, but he cut me off. "And I will not argue about this with you anymore."

We looked at each other for a long moment, and I could see him struggling to control his anger. I finally said, "Very well. Take care of yourself, Éomer."

Éomer looked like he wanted to say something, but then abruptly pulled me into a fierce hug, which surprised me because he rarely showed affection towards me in such a manner. Once he finally released me, we walked back in silence towards the camp, and he paused in front of my tent. "Good night, Éowyn."

"Good night," I said as he left before turning to go inside. As I stumbled over my things in the dark, my foot kicked a small pile of clothes that I had left on the ground from the day before. As I kicked them out of the way, I remembered the plan that had begun to form when I was with Maeglith earlier that night. I knew it was desperate, and if I was caught…

_No, I will not be, _I decided firmly. If the end truly had come, as Éomer believed, then at least I would die fighting beside the two people I cared about more than anyone else in the world—even if they would never know.

* * *

_**A/N: Nothing major this time-- I've just slightly expanded the conversations between Éowyn and Merry/Éomer, and slightly reworded some of the book dialogue as usual.**_

**_Reposted 4/23/07_**


	10. Chapter 10: Dernhelm

**Chapter 10- Dernhelm**

It had been bitterly cold every morning since our arrival at Dunharrow, as if spring itself had retreated from the threat of war and was allowing winter to encroach on its territory once more. The morning of the weapontake was no exception, but for once I was glad of the cold. I had bound my breasts as tightly as I could before I had dressed, and using the cold as an excuse to keep my cloak close about me would also keep anyone from noticing that the neckline of my gown hung looser than usual. I also wore my sword, but since I had hardly been seen without it since we had left Edoras, save the night that Aragorn had come, I did not think that anyone would question my motives in carrying it.

Though my thoughts were, for the most part, occupied with constantly debating the wisdom of my plan as I walked toward the pavilion to meet with my uncle, I still could not help being disturbed when I noticed the sky. It was past time for the sun to rise, but a heavy darkness still hung over the encampment. There was not even a hint of light or shadow in the thick, iron-grey blanket to indicate the form of clouds. I could see as I looked around that I was not the only one anxious at the ominous sight; people murmured quietly amongst themselves and occasionally glanced upwards nervously.

I was startled to hear a movement nearby, and turned to see my uncle standing beside me. "Come, Éowyn," he said kindly. "I wish to break fast with you and your brother ere we ride. Éomer is already waiting."

I followed him back to the pavilion. Éomer was sitting at the table in a brooding silence. His eyes briefly met mine, but neither of us spoke. After our near-argument the night before, I had no wish to upset him again, and it seemed he felt the same way. A woman came and set some bread and hard cheese before us. My brother and uncle ate silently; I occasionally took a bite but did not have much of an appetite. I was unable to shake the feeling that this could very well be the last time that we were all together, and was afraid to mar things by speaking.

Théoden had just about finished eating when one of his officers, Gamling, entered the tent. "My lord, the men of Gondor wish to speak with you ere they go."

"Send them in," my uncle replied. Gamling bowed and left. Shortly after, two dark-haired men entered the tent. Both were clad in silver and black, with riding cloaks of green. Their helms were emblazoned with a small silver star, which I recognized as one of the symbols of Gondor. Théoden, Éomer and I stood as they entered, nodding our heads in acknowledgment as the men bowed. The taller of the two was apparently the leader, as he stepped forward after they had both straightened. My uncle remained standing, but Éomer and I sat down.

"Good morning, my lord, if one can call a dawn such as this good," the man said politely. I glanced over at Éomer. He leaned over and whispered, "His name is Hirgon. He is the messenger who came to us after you left, bearing the Red Arrow." My eyes widened as I began to understand why Éomer had fallen into such despair; I had not quite realized how serious the situation had already become.

"Yes, Lord Hirgon. I fear the men see the darkness as an ill omen," my uncle answered as he finally sat down. The tent flap arose once again, and Merry stumbled in, looking as if he had awoken just moments before. I gave him an encouraging half-smile as he stood uncertainly at the back of the tent.

"It comes from Mordor, lord," Hirgon said. "It began last night at sunset. From the hills in the Eastfold of your realm I saw it rise and creep across the sky, and all night as I rode it came behind eating up the stars. Now the great cloud hangs over all the land between here and the Mountains of Shadow; and it is deepening. War has already begun."

My uncle sat for a long moment in deep thought with his head bowed, and I could see a trace of the despair that had weighed him down for so long during Wormtongue's time. When he finally spoke again, his voice was heavy. "So we come to it in the end; the great battle of our time, in which many things shall pass away." Then he raised his head, and his eyes lit up once more. "But at least there is no longer need for hiding. We will ride the straight way and the open road and with all our speed. The muster shall begin at once, and wait for none that tarry." He turned to Hirgon. "Have you good store in Minas Tirith? For if we must ride now in all haste, then we must ride light, with but meal and water enough to last us into battle."

"We have very great store long prepared. Ride now as light and as swift as you may!" Hirgon said, a hopeful look on his face.

The king turned to my brother. "Then call the heralds, Éomer. Let the Riders be marshaled!"

Éomer rose and bowed. He glanced over at me, looking as if he wished to speak but could not find the words. Finally, he softly said, "Farewell, little sister," and left the pavilion. Hirgon and his companion followed.

Merry stepped forward tentatively after they had gone, and my uncle smiled at him. "I am going to war, Master Meriadoc. In a little while I shall take the road. I release you from my service, but not from my friendship. You shall abide here, and if you will, you shall serve the Lady Éowyn, who will govern the folk in my stead." I looked down, trying to hide my sorrow at hearing that, once again, I was to be given no choice in the matter.

Merry looked rather unhappy with this arrangement as well. "But lord," he protested, "I offered you my sword. I do not want to be parted from you like this, Théoden King. And as all my friends have gone to the battle, I should be ashamed to stay behind."

"But we ride on horses tall and swift, and great though your heart be, you cannot ride on such beasts." My uncle's voice was kind, but firm.

"Then tie me onto the back of one, or let me hang on a stirrup, or something!" Merry cried in frustration. "It is a long way to run; but run I shall, if I cannot ride, even if I wear my feet off and arrive weeks too late."

I could not help feeling impressed at the Halfling's fervor. The King smiled as he answered, "Rather than that I would bear you with me on Snowmane. But at the least you shall ride with me to Edoras and look on Meduseld; for that way I shall go. So far Stybba can bear you; the great race will not begin till we reach the plains."

He turned and nodded to me, and I rose from my seat. "Come now, Meriadoc! I will show you the gear that I have prepared for you." He waited until I had left the tent, then followed. I slowed down to allow him to catch up, and we walked side by side through the encampment. "This request only did Aragorn make to me, that you should be armed for battle," I said, trying to keep the sorrow out of my voice. "I have granted it, as I could, for my heart tells me that you will need such gear ere the end." Merry glanced up at me, but made no reply.

I called out a greeting as I reached the armorer's tent. "How may I help you, my lady?" he asked, bowing, though I could tell by his demeanor and the wagon already piled high with nearly all the spare armor we had in the camp that he was in haste.

"I need the armor that was set aside for the King's esquire," I answered.

The armorer saw Merry standing by my side and raised an eyebrow, but kept silent as he disappeared inside the tent. He returned quickly with his arms full of battle gear and set it down. "Begging your pardon, my lady, but I am needed in the soldiers' camp."

"Very well, and thank you," I said as he bowed and departed. Merry eagerly went over to the small pile and picked up the helm.

"I cannot believe that you found one small enough!" he exclaimed.

"It belonged to my brother, when he was a child," I explained. "No mail have we to fit you, nor any time for the forging of such a hauberk. But here is also a stout jerkin of leather, a belt, and a knife. A sword you have," I added, noting the intricately designed scabbard hanging by his side.

Merry bowed gratefully. "Thank you, my lady." He eagerly pulled on the leather tunic and helm. After he had finished strapping the scabbards for his sword and the knife onto his belt, I handed him a green shield painted with a white horse. He picked up the shield, holding onto the iron bar uncertainly.

"Not like that! Here, I will show you." He handed the shield back to me, and I showed him how to hold the shield over his forearm, so that he could easily move it to block a blow and still hold the reins of his mount. "Here, you try," I said, handing it back to him and drawing my sword. Merry's eyes widened for a moment. "Do not fear; I will not hurt you," I said, smiling to reassure him. "Now if I bring my sword down upon you like this…" I slowly moved my sword as if I was going to bring it down upon his shield-arm, and he brought up his arm and blocked the blade. "Good!" I exclaimed, and he smiled. "Now let us try again." I acted as if I was going to strike him a few more times, and he blocked every blow with his shield. "Very good, Merry."

He looked up at me. "You have been very kind, Éowyn. I don't know how to thank you."

I knelt down before him. "Take all these things, and bear them to good fortune." I smiled as well as I could, though my heart was heavy, and filled with bitterness that even the Halfling was given more of a chance than I was. "Farewell now, Master Meriadoc," I said before adding, half to myself, "Yet maybe we shall meet again, you and I."

"Farewell," he said with a bit of uncertainty, then bowed and departed.

After Merry had left, I glanced around to see if anyone was watching. No one seemed to be paying attention to what I was doing, so I quickly entered the armorer's tent again. It did not take me long to gather what I needed; the helm I had found the day before was still lying slightly apart from the others that were left, and I grabbed the smallest leather hauberk I could find. I already had the mail shirt and shield I had taken from Edoras, and I had my own sword and riding gloves. Almost as an afterthought, I took one of the metal plates we used to protect our horses' heads in battle; if either Théoden or Éomer saw the distinctive splash of white on Windfola's forehead, I would certainly be found out. I found a blanket, wrapped the armor in it and left the tent.

After my conversation with Éomer the night before, I had hidden the mail-shirt and shield under a bush in a pine grove that stood near the back of the camp, knowing that I could not be seen leaving my tent in such gear. I made sure no one was looking, then crept back there and shoved the bundle next to it. There was just one more thing I needed to complete my disguise—clothes. I knew I would not have anything among the clothing that I had brought that would pass for men's garments, but I knew exactly where to look.

My brother would not be in his tent, I was certain; he would be down in the valley summoning the soldiers. Nevertheless, I softly called his name, waiting a moment before entering. I was in luck; Éomer had obviously packed in haste, and several articles of clothing still littered the ground. I quickly picked up a tunic and a pair of wool breeches, rolled them up tightly and hid the bundle under my cloak. His mind would be on the battle; he would never miss them.

I peeked outside. Several men were standing near the entrance of the tent. I groaned silently. _How am I going to get out now? _If Éomer returned, there would be more questions than I cared to deal with. I experimentally tugged at the bottom of the canvas, but with no luck; the stakes were driven tightly into the ground. I peeked out again; the men had moved off. I quickly left with a sigh of relief, tossing the bundle into my tent as I headed toward the pavilion once more.

"Éowyn," I heard my uncle call. He was standing a little ways off watching the preparations in the valley below, and looked over at me sadly. "I must leave soon, Éowyn. I wish to speak with you one last time."

I could feel the threatening sting of tears in my eyes again as I walked over. "You do not believe that you will return either," I said flatly.

"Nay; my heart tells me that I will not see spring come to Edoras again." Théoden sighed as his gaze drifted over the encampment.

"Then Éomer was right." My voice sounded small and childlike even to my own ears. "It is hopeless. We cannot win this fight."

"Perhaps not." He turned back to me, and the old gleam that I remembered from my childhood was in his eyes. "But we will fight nonetheless. I will not have it said of us that we failed to fulfill our oaths." After a moment, the fire in his eyes faded as he added, "May you never have to face a decision such as this, Éowyn."

A cold knot settled in my stomach; I knew what he was implying. I stood for a moment, my hands clenching and unclenching nervously. Finally I blurted out, "Uncle, let me come with you this time. I beg you!"

"No," he said firmly.

"Why not?" I argued. "Any extra blade would be a help in this battle. Please, just let me come with you."

"I would not have you ride into needless peril," he replied. "And the people here will need someone to lead them when the battle comes to Rohan."

I frowned. "If I were a man, you would not refuse me." I knew my argument was childish, but at that point I did not care. I was still unsure about carrying out my plan, and had no wish to deceive my uncle if I could find a way to avoid it.

"Someone would have to stay regardless. I would rather it be someone I can trust." He was evading the point, and we both knew it.

I looked up at him. "Uncle, if this truly is the last battle of our time, I would rather die fighting beside you and Éomer than to die here alone." My eyes filled with tears in spite of my efforts to hold them back.

He smiled sadly and put his arm about my shoulders. "Éowyn," he murmured, wiping away a tear that began to trickle down my cheek "It grieves me to leave you here like this."

"Then let me come," I pleaded.

"I cannot allow that. If I must die, I would rather die knowing that our people will be cared for. And if there is the slightest hope of victory, I would have you safe here. No man wants to see his daughter face an end such as you would find in the battle." I looked up at him, and he added, "You know that I could not love you any more if you had been my own daughter. I only wish that I had been a better father to you."

"You have been a better father than I ever hoped for," I protested.

He frowned. "Nay; a father would not have forced you stand by and wait on me as I became a dotard, with Wormtongue's words ringing in your ears day after day." He paused, looking at me thoughtfully, then added, "Do not let his lies fill you with despair, Éowyn, as I did."

"I will not," I answered automatically, though I knew in my heart that it was already too late for such promises. "And you never forced me to stay; it was my choice."

That seemed to ease his mind a little. He embraced me warmly, then stepped back and studied me as if he was trying to memorize my face. Finally he said, "Farewell, Éowyn"

"Farewell," I answered. As he turned and walked away, my resolve wavered. He and Éomer were so determined that I stay, and I did not wish to disobey my King's wishes.

But as I looked around the camp, the mountains encircling the Firienfeld seemed like walls closing me in. The sky hung heavily overhead, a roof of iron to complete my prison. "No!" I cried in a choked whisper. In that moment, my decision was made, and I whirled around and headed for my tent once more.

------

I had filled a saddlebag with the uneaten remains of my breakfast, a few other loaves of bread that I had filched while Hanna was not watching, my riding gloves and dagger, and a few other small items. As I carried it across the camp, I kept glancing around, certain that I would be stopped and questioned at any moment, but it never happened. Once I reached the shadows of the pine grove, I quickly shed my dress and pulled Éomer's tunic and breeches on; I had to cut a strip of fabric off the waist of the pants and create a sort of drawstring to get his breeches to fit my waist. After I pulled on the mail shirt and laced up the hauberk, I buckled on a harness that would allow my sword to be easily drawn while riding, pulled on my riding gloves and laced a pair of vambraces around my wrists. Finally, I clasped my cloak about my shoulders, picked up my dagger and pulled the end of my braid over my shoulder. I stared at it for a long moment, suddenly reluctant to cut it off. _You fool! No Rider has hair this long! _I thought, but still hesitated. Then I heard the clear ring of trumpets from the camp below, summoning the Riders to the valley, and realized I was running out of time. I quickly coiled my braid up and stuffed it inside the helm, then sheathed the dagger and pushed it into my boot.

I was just about to pick up the shield when I remembered that my white dress still lay on the ground. Even though I doubted anyone would come back here, I still could not leave any evidence behind, so I quickly rolled it up as tightly as I could and hid it underneath the food in my saddlebag. I knew that I had no time to take it back to my tent, and I could not help shaking my head at how ridiculous it was to carry a dress into battle as I rolled up the blanket, grabbed my shield and left the grove.

It did not take me long to get Windfola tacked up. My heart was still pounding as I mounted and began my descent down the path, but still I was not questioned. It seemed that I was not the only warrior who was arriving late; as I reached the valley I could see the captains dividing the Riders into companies, and the only acknowledgment I received was for one of the lieutenants to give me a critical glance, then direct me over to the third company, led by Elfhelm. For a moment I was disappointed that I would not be riding with Théoden and Éomer, but then realized that I would have more chance of being recognized if I was in their company, and went without complaint after I had taken a spear.

One of the men glanced over at me sharply as I pulled Windfola to a halt. "Hurry up, lad, the King is coming!" I nodded silently and took my place near the end of the line. As I watched, I could see my uncle following twelve Riders from his guard, with Éomer on his right. I looked away for a moment for fear of being recognized, but then set my gaze forward. _A warrior does not hide from the face of his King,_ I told myself sternly. I still felt relieved though, when neither my uncle nor my brother even glanced in my direction.

I had not noticed that Merry was riding behind the King until I felt his eyes upon me. I returned the gaze, though it took all my resolve to do; he was giving me such an odd look that I was certain that he recognized me. I did not realize that I had been holding my breath until he had turned his face ahead of him once more. The remainder of the King's company passed, followed by Grimbold's company. Mine was the last to leave the encampment. As Windfola began trotting behind the others, I kept my eyes riveted ahead. I had been saddened to leave Edoras, but this time I felt no grief or regret. I felt nothing at all.

-------

We reached Edoras within a few hours, and the King called for a short rest while several of the Riders who had not reached Dunharrow in time for the muster were divided into companies. I picketed Windfola and walked around a little, knowing I should stretch my legs while I had the chance. Though we were resting outside the walls, I also wanted to take the opportunity to look around my city for the last time.

As I walked alone, all around me, men were eating or talking in low murmurs. Many of them still looked at the sky uneasily. From where I was, I could see the path leading up to the walls, and two horses picketed near the barrows, which I quickly recognized as Snowmane and Firefoot. Théoden and Éomer were standing nearby in front of the stones that had been set up in my cousin's memory, and though I could not hear what was said, I knew that my uncle was trying to bid farewell to his son. For a moment, I fought the desire to join them, to offer my uncle what little comfort I could. But I knew we were close enough to Dunharrow that I would still be sent back. I could not allow that to happen, and so I reluctantly turned away.

It was not long before most of the men had mounted and were ready to continue. I was about to mount my horse when I saw Merry speaking with the King. Even though I would not have dared to move close enough to hear the conversation, I did not need to; Merry's face as he bowed and walked away told me all that I needed to know.

I looked away and lifted my foot to the stirrup once more, then stopped and looked back at the Halfling. _He is not much taller than Freda_, I thought; _surely a little more weight would not hurt Windfola._ I hesitated again; I was taking enough of a risk by coming myself. Why should Merry's fate concern me?

_Because I, more than anyone, should understand,_ I thought with more than a little guilt. I had also offered my service and been refused; I could not deny Merry the same chance I had taken. With my mind made up, I picketed Windfola once more.

Merry's back was turned to me, and he visibly jumped as I came up behind him and said softly, taking care to keep my voice as low as I could, "Where will wants not, a way opens, so we say. And so I have found myself." He turned towards me, and a look of recognition passed over his face. I chose to ignore it for the moment as I continued, "You wish to go where the Lord of the Mark goes. I see it in your face."

His eyes lit up with sudden hope. "I do," he said.

"Then you shall go with me. I will bear you before me, under my cloak until we are far afield, and this darkness is yet darker." My voice softened a bit as I added, half to myself, "Such good will should not be denied." I looked back down at him and said, "Say no more to any man, but come!"

Merry smiled in gratitude. "Thank you indeed!" he exclaimed. "Thank you, sir, though I do not know your name."

"Do you not?" I asked, hoping I did not sound as surprised as I felt; I had been certain he had known my true identity. "Then call me…" I quickly searched my mind for a name. "Dernhelm."

"Then thank you, Dernhelm," Merry said gratefully; if I had hesitated before giving a name, he did not seem to notice. "And please, call me Merry." I nodded, though I did not smile. I led him over to Windfola, and laced my fingers together to allow him to boost himself up to the height needed to reach the stirrup; I did not want to offend him by lifting him into the saddle. After Merry had pulled himself somewhat unsteadily onto the stallion's back, I mounted behind him and quickly arranged my cloak to hide his feet as much as possible. Then the heralds gave the signal, and we rode on once more.

* * *

**_A/N: Mostly minor edits here, though I did have to change the part about Theodred's grave._**

**_Reposted 5/21/07_**


	11. Chapter 11: Deception

**Chapter 11- Deception**

"Dernhelm?" I heard a familiar voice ask somewhat tentatively. _Surely it cannot be morning already! _I silently protested. It seemed that I had closed my eyes only a moment ago.

I felt someone shaking my shoulder, then heard the voice again. "Dernhelm, wake up."

I let out a muffled groan and rolled over, trying to shut out the voice so I could go back to sleep. It was now the fifth day since we had left Dunharrow, and every time we had stopped to rest I had slept little, since I feared to take any of my armor off even to rest. Fortunately, no one thought it strange that I left my helm on; we were under orders to be able to prepare to move at all times, and I was not the only one who kept all his armor on. Still, more than once I had been grateful for the little padding my hair provided within the helm as I attempted to get as comfortable as I could.

Besides the physical discomfort, I had been plagued by troubling dreams every night. If I did not dream of staying alone in Dunharrow, waiting for the inevitable news of Théoden's and Éomer's deaths, I would find myself following Aragorn onto the Paths of the Dead, only to find his broken body lying among the stones. I could almost hear his voice accusing me of causing his death, or see his blood upon my hands for failing to stop him. Or I would think I had found him, only to find myself facing Gríma once more. _I tried to tell you, Éowyn,_ he would say. _I told you he would not want you. And this desperate plan of yours will fail as well. What are you trying to prove? Do you think that by falling in battle, you will make him think better of you? You are no warrior; all you will do is bring shame upon your house._ I had no answer for him; the strain of having to guard my every action in order to maintain my deception was wearing on me, as was my guilt over the realization that I had left my people in Dunharrow without a leader.

Sometimes it seemed to me that there was a third person there as well. I could never see his face, but I knew he was waiting for me. His presence seemed to cast a dark shadow over my mind, and even now the thought made me shudder.

"Dernhelm?" the voice came again. I reluctantly opened my eyes to see Merry kneeling beside me. I moved to sit up, and every muscle in my body protested at the action. Though I was by no means a stranger to the saddle, I was unused to riding so far in so short a time, especially in full armor. I gritted my teeth and forced myself up.

"Merry? What is happening?" I asked, barely having the presence of mind to keep my voice low.

"We're getting ready to leave. The Wild Men are going to lead us to the outer walls," Merry said. "They say that the Orcs have blocked off the road. The King and Lord Éomer do not think we will reach Minas Tirith today," he added, his face grim.

I could understand his frustration; I was ready for this to end. I knew that Merry was anxious as well. from what little we had spoken, I knew that one of his kinsmen had gone ahead of him to Gondor, accompanied by Gandalf, and that Merry feared for his safety. I had no words of comfort to offer him, nor did I wish to speak much, for fear of revealing myself. So I had remained silent for much of the journey, much to Merry's dismay.

It did not help matters for him that the other Riders ignored Merry as well, though I was content with the lack of attention. He had been discovered during our first night at camp; Elfhelm had somehow discovered that I was responsible for his presence and had confronted me. The interview was completely nerve-wracking for me, but somehow he had not guessed who I truly was. We finally came to an understanding that as far as he was concerned, Merry was not there, and whatever happened to him would be on my head. For that reason, I was determined to protect the Halfling as well as I could ere I fell.

Merry's face mirrored my own grim determination as we silently prepared for the day's ride, rolling up blankets and packing saddlebags. The darkness that had covered the sky since the beginning of our journey had grown ever deeper, until it seemed that we rode in perpetual twilight. Though I was grateful that the dim light would help me to hide my features, my sense of despair grew deeper every moment. I could tell that the other Riders' hearts were troubled as well.

Finally we were on our way. The ride was much slower than that of the previous four days, for the undergrowth was thick and we were often forced to dismount and find paths the horses could safely take down into the valley. Not too far ahead of me I could see Elfhelm's horse, with a short, stout figure easily leading him through the forest; I knew he must be one of the Wild Men of whom Merry had spoken.

For hours uncounted we scrambled through the bushes. All other thoughts save the next step were pushed from my mind as I saw to the tedious chore of finding places where it would be safe for Windfola to walk. Finally, we passed through thick grey brush onto a little-used road, and the order was given to make camp and rest for what remained of the day. _Though I can hardly see how they would know the difference,_ I thought ruefully as I looked up at the darkened sky.

After picketing Windfola and loosening his tack in order to give him a little more comfort, I rolled out my blanket and dug through my saddlebag. Though I had rationed the food, there was little left of the store that I had brought; just enough for perhaps two more small meals. I pulled out a stale loaf of bread and broke it in half, then handed one piece to Merry. I had no appetite, but forced myself to choke the food down, chewing slowly and washing every dry mouthful down with a swallow of water. Merry sat silently beside me, though he ate much quicker. One thing I had quickly learned about hobbits was that they were quite fond of their meals, and that where he came from, the day's rations would hardly be considered sufficient for what he called "second breakfast."

Merry was beginning to look increasingly uncomfortable as I finished my meager meal. Finally, I asked him, "What is it, Merry?"

"They say that we will reach the city tomorrow," Merry said. "I was just wondering…" I looked at him steadily until he finished, "When we come to the battle, will I just be in your way?"

I was silent for a long moment as I considered his question. I had not really thought of that before, and I had no way of knowing what would happen when the battle started. But as he looked up at me, I felt I had to reassure him somehow, even if I did not believe it myself. "No, I do not think you will be. You will ride behind me, and if you keep your sword low, I think that we should able to keep out of each other's way."

"I hope so," Merry said softly. "I do not wish to be a burden."

"You will not be," I said, hoping it would be true.

We fell into silence again until Merry looked up at me and asked, "Would you think me a coward if I said I am a little afraid?"

I gave him the best half-smile that I could muster. "Of course not. It is your first battle; I have heard even the strongest men get nervous on such an occasion."

"I know…it's just, I do not wish to die, if I can avoid it." Merry looked down at the sword at his belt. "I would like to see the Shire again, if I can." He glanced back up at me again. "Are you afraid?"

I turned my gaze back outwards. "To die? No, I am not afraid." My voice dropped to nearly a whisper as I added, "An honorable death is the only hope left to me now."

"Why is that?" Merry asked.

"I have nothing left to return to," I said, hoping my tone would end the discussion. It did, to my relief. But long after Merry had fallen asleep, I lay awake. His question kept nagging at me until I was forced to admit that though I did not fear death, I feared the outcome nevertheless. I could not quite silence the quiet question that kept echoing in my mind: _What if you survive the battle?_

-------

I must have fallen asleep eventually, because the next thing I knew, we were preparing to move out again. The darkness had grown slightly deeper, so I guessed that night must have fallen. The Wild Men had departed, but we were on the road leading directly to the city now and had no more need for a guide. All around me I could hear nothing more than the steady beat of horses' hooves and the clinking of armor; not a man dared to speak as we rode. By some stroke of good fortune, Elfhelm's éored had ended up riding just behind the King's company. I signaled to Windfola to move a little faster, and was soon a little further up in the column. In this way, moving up a little then keeping pace with the surrounding Riders for a moment, I was able to move up unnoticed until I was at the rear of the King's company. If Merry saw that I had left my place, he said nothing.

The captains called for a brief pause, and the Riders began preparing their weapons; shields were unslung from their backs and I could hear the soft scrape of steel against metal as swords were loosened in their scabbards. From where Merry and I were, we could hear the report of the scouts. "There are great fires, lord," one of them said. "The city is all set about with flame, and the field is full of foes." For a moment, I felt a little shaky as I wondered what sight would greet us when we arrived. I could feel Merry growing tense behind me. Then the scout continued, "But all seem drawn off to the assault. As well as we could guess, there are few left upon the out-wall, and they are heedless, busy in destruction."

I could hear another voice now. "Do you remember the Wild Man's words, lord? I live upon the open Wold in days of peace; Widfara is my name, and to me also the air brings messages. Already the wind is turning. There comes a breath out of the South; there is a sea-tang in it, faint though it be. The morning will bring new things. Above the reek it will be dawn when you pass the wall."

"If you speak truly, Widfara, then may you live beyond this day in years of blessedness!" my uncle exclaimed, hope in his voice. Then he turned and spoke to us in a voice louder and clearer than I had ever heard from him, and my courage was renewed at his words.

"Now is the hour come, Riders of the Mark, sons of Eorl! Foes and fire are before you, and your homes far behind. Yet, though you fight upon an alien field, the glory that you reap there shall be your own forever." My heart leaped at this; that was my only wish. He continued: "Oaths you have taken; now fulfill them all, to lord and land and league of friendship!" The men around me clashed their spears against their shields, and after a moment's uncertainty I followed suit. Théoden directed for my brother to lead the first éored, in which I now rode; the other two companies would go to either side of us. He gave one final call to us. "Strike wherever the enemy gathers. Other plans we cannot make, for we know not yet how things stand upon the field. Forth now, and fear no darkness!" And with a cry, he moved Snowmane into a full gallop.

"Hold on, Merry," I said as Windfola snorted, eager to run. I could feel the Halfling clutch tightly at my sword-harness as I gave the horse his head. As we flew over the grassy plain towards the outer wall, I felt freer than I had for all the long years of waiting by my uncle's side, and allowed my face to relax into a smile, even as I gripped the reins more tightly.

I was surprised to hear a few inhuman cries and the sound of steel clashing together. I raised my arm in preparation to throw my spear, but both sounds soon ceased and the King halted. We had reached the outer wall, or what was left of it; a huge gap had been torn in the wall and piles of rubble lay where the gates had been. As the King's éored crowded close about him, I found myself close to Théoden. The other two éoreds moved off to either side as we began to pass through the gate.

As we passed through the breach in the wall onto the Pelennor Fields, all was deadly still, save the lines of fire that lit up the distant silhouettes of the enemy. We silently rode unchallenged towards the east, closer to the siege-fires. The smoke-filled air seared my lungs and caused my eyes to water. In the distant gloom, I could see a shadowy mass towering above the field and the occasional flicker of flame—my first glimpse of the city of Minas Tirith. As I looked upon the city, I felt suddenly ill, and once again I doubted the wisdom of my choice. No matter what happened to me that day, it could not possibly make any difference—it seemed that we had arrived too late after all. I clutched at the hilt of my sword once again for reassurance, biting my lip to try to force down the terror and hopelessness that threatened to overwhelm me. Behind me, I could feel Merry shifting uncomfortably as he tried to see what was happening. Ahead of me, I could see the silhouetted form of the King, with Éomer by his side. He was staring straight ahead at the city, and it seemed that once again he had grown frail with despair.

Just when it seemed that things could not grow any darker, I could see a far-off glimmer of light—the first glimpse of sunlight that I had seen in days. Far away, the clouds ended and I could see the first rays of dawn. I could also feel a slight breath of wind on my face. At the same time, a flash like lighting sprang from the city, followed by a peal of sharp thunder. As if the sound had wakened him from a spell, the king straightened up and turned to us, crying: "_Arise, arise, Riders of Théoden! Fell deeds awake: fire and slaughter! Spear shall be shaken, shield be splintered; a sword-day, a red day, ere the sun rises! Ride now! Ride now! Ride to Gondor!"_ He grabbed a horn from the Rider who carried his banner and blew a loud, clear note on it.

As the other Riders sounded their horns in response, my doubts cleared, and I knew that this was exactly where I was supposed to be. My uncle flew over the field ahead of everyone, leaving Éomer to lead the rest of the éored behind him, and with a cry, I spurred Windfola into a run towards the city. The battle had begun.

* * *

**_Reposted 5/21/07_**


	12. Chapter 12: Twilight and Shadow

**Chapter 12- Twilight and Shadow**

As we followed Théoden over the fields towards the enemy, the clouds parted at last, allowing the morning light to stream over the field. I could see my uncle's golden shield gleaming like the sun as Snowmane bore him far ahead of us, though none of us slackened our pace. It seemed to me that some kind of madness had overtaken him; I had never seen him like that before.

I realized that we had almost reached the enemy, and quickly pulled my mind back to the present. A company of orcs that waited near one of the siege trenches had become aware of us, and turned to face us with spears aimed at our horses to make a barrier. A few Riders armed with bows quickly shot some holes in the defensive line; the orcs responded by firing a volley of their own. I cringed involuntarily as one of the arrows whizzed past my head; I could hear a cry of pain as it struck one of the men behind me. The King reached the front of the enemy line and plunged into the horde with his sword drawn, followed closely by my brother and the other captains. I could hear Merry draw his sword behind me, and after throwing the spear I carried into the enemy line in order to clear a path for my horse, I followed suit.

As I rode into the fray, I barely managed to block a crudely made sword from plunging into Windfola's side. I beat the orc back with my shield, then thrust downward with my sword. The blade plunged into its chest and the orc fell. I had no time to think before another orc came up on my other side. This time, I had to parry the blow. Then the orc suddenly fell, and I glanced behind me as Merry withdrew his blade, now stained black with orc blood. He looked surprised, and glanced up at me.

"Good work," I called back to him as I swung at another orc, beheading it. All around me, I could hear the clash of steel on iron, the cries of horses and the screams of both men and orcs as they died. I caught a glimpse of my brother, eyes wild with battle-lust as he fought, but was quickly distracted as I had to fight off another orc.

Merry and I quickly found a way to fight hard and still keep out of each other's way. He kept his blows lower, aiming for the chest, and I found that it was easier for me to avoid hurting Merry by just beheading the orcs. I was also able to keep our left side covered more easily, since my reach was longer, so I concentrated more of my efforts there. I soon stopped thinking about what I was doing; my movements became pure reaction, an effort to take down just one more enemy before I was slain myself. It was only when most of the orc company had fallen or been scattered that I became aware that the men around me were singing one of the battle-songs that had been handed down from the days of Eorl himself. I smiled grimly, but did not join in.

After quickly cleaning off my blade on the edge of my tunic, I then spurred Windfola on to follow the King. The walls of the city seemed to grow before my eyes as we reached the road, and even in the midst of battle I was awed by the sheer size of it. Théoden reined Snowmane in, and those of us that had passed through the first onslaught crowded around him. I moved in close, but still behind Théoden and Éomer, hoping I was out of their sight.

As he paused, I surveyed the situation. The other two companies were riding amid the trenches, driving the orcs towards the fires or the river. A surge of pride rushed through me at the sight of the orcs fleeing before us. But it had not ended yet.

I heard a strange horn call behind us, and wheeled my horse around to see a group of mounted men flying towards us, red and black banners blowing in the wind. One of the Riders nearby cursed loudly and called out, "Haradrim!"

My uncle raised his sword. "To me, Eorlingas!" he cried as he rode forward. The Riders and I quickly followed. Théoden broke through the line of men, heading straight for the captain, and I could hear the ring of steel as the two lines met, green clashing against red. Though I was not in the front of the line, I quickly found myself in the midst of the battle as we drove into their line, splitting it as swiftly as lightning.

One of the Haradrim raised his sword against me, and I quickly responded by plunging my sword into his side. As he fell from his horse, I withdrew my sword and was briefly sickened at the sight of the red blood now staining the blade. I had felt no remorse when fighting the orcs, since they had been troubling my people for my entire life. It had been the orcs that slew my father and cousin, and in a way, my mother. But at the realization that I had just killed another human, I felt suddenly light-headed, though I was not usually one to quail at the sight of blood.

It was Merry who called me back to the present. "Dernhelm!" he cried, and I raised my shield just in time to block another blow. From that moment on, I forced myself to stay focused on the battle. A fire was burning in my veins as I fought, filling me with a battle-lust that both thrilled and frightened me. Only once did I take my eyes off my immediate surroundings—I had ended up within a few feet of Éomer, and noticed one of the Haradrim riding towards him while my brother's back was turned, his curved sword raised to kill. I knew I could not reach him in time to stop him; without thinking, I wrenched a spear free from a fallen warrior and threw it at the man. My aim proved true; the man fell with the spearhead protruding from his stomach, the shaft still quivering in his back. Éomer turned just in time to see the man fall only feet from him. For a brief moment, his eyes met mine. I did not realize that I had been holding my breath until he nodded his thanks and looked away, and I exhaled in relief. He had not recognized me.

I heard a triumphant cry rise up, and turned just in time to see the Haradrim's banner, a black serpent on a red field, waver and fall. The King's standard-bearer raised our banner, a white horse on a green field, and waved it about. The Rohirrim cried out joyfully, raising their swords in honor of Théoden's triumph. Merry shouted out with them, and I joined in this time, feeling elated and finally daring to hope that the day might bring us victory after all.

Snowmane reared up a little as my uncle waved his red-stained sword. The Haradrim that remained turned their horses and fled. I wiped my blade and returned it to its scabbard for the moment as we rallied around the King once more, waiting for our next orders.

Just then, I felt a chill shoot throughout my entire body. The men and horses around me grew suddenly restless, as if they felt it too. Windfola stamped nervously, and I automatically stroked the stallion's neck to try and calm him. Just then, an unearthly scream reached my ears and I looked up, my eyes widening as I froze in terror.

The creature that flew overhead was unlike anything I had ever seen before, more frightening than anything I had beheld even in my darkest nightmares. It was black and covered in scales, with large, leathery wings that surrounded us with a cold, foul-smelling wind as they beat the air. Its tail whipped around behind it and its long, snake-like neck stretched out as it began to dive toward us with a terrible cry. As it swooped down, it seemed that it blotted the light out from the sky, and for the first time, I knew what fear truly was; I could sense the pure evil emanating from this creature, blinding me to all else.

I was not the only one to sense this, and I could hear the cries of battle-hardened warriors driven mad with fear as Windfola reared up with a scream. I was still frozen with terror and failed to react in time, and was thrown from his back. As I hit the ground, I barely managed to roll out of the way of Windfola's hoofs in time and came to a stop right in front of the glassy eyes of a dead man.

I stifled a cry of horror as I scrambled to my feet, looking around in a panic. "Merry!" I called out frantically, but could see no sign of the hobbit. Riders struggled to keep control of their mounts; even Éomer was having a difficult time as Firefoot tore across the plains. Windfola was already out of sight. I glanced around again, praying that Merry had not been trampled by one of the maddened horses.

I heard a clear voice rising out of the chaos and turned to see my uncle. Somehow he had managed to stay mounted and was now raising his shield as a signal to the other Rohirrim. "To me, to me!" he cried. "Up Eorlingas! Fear no darkness!" I felt a flash of pride at his stalwart heart, which quickly turned to a cry of horror as Snowmane reared up, screaming as a black arrow pierced his side. Théoden cried out in pain as the horse lost its balance and fell, pinning him underneath.

"Uncle!" I screamed, all thoughts of secrecy forgotten as I ran towards him, my eyes filling with tears and hardly able to believe what was happening. But before I could reach him, the shadow-creature flew down and landed on Snowmane's body, causing the wounded horse to thrash in terror. I could see now that the figure of a man sat upon the beast's back, yet I knew that it was not a man. Though he wore a great black mantle over steel armor and a mask-like helm that was spiked at the top in mockery of a crown, I could not see a face. There was only darkness staring down at the King. Though his eyes were no more than a gleam, I could feel the malice in his gaze even from where I stood. In his hand he carried an enormous mace, which he now raised up.

I had to do something—I could not just stand by and watch him slay one who had been like a father to me, not while there was a chance he might yet live. "Begone, foul dwimmerlaik, lord of carrion!" I called out, hoping to draw his attention away from my uncle. "Leave the dead in peace!"

The figure turned to me, and answered in an authoritative voice that chilled me to the core. "Come not between the Nazgûl and his prey! Or he will not slay thee in thy turn. He will bear thee away to the houses of lamentation, beyond all darkness, where thy flesh shall be devoured, and thy shriveled mind be left naked to the Lidless Eye." But even as he hissed the words, he lowered the mace.

My distraction was working, and this gave me courage. "Do what you will; but I will hinder it, if I may." I answered, my sword ringing as I drew it from its sheath. I did not feel afraid anymore; I felt nothing but a burning desire to avenge Théoden's death. And if I lost my own as a result, I had come here expecting or desiring no less.

The Nazgûl laughed cruelly. "Hinder me? Thou fool! No living man may hinder me!"

To my own surprise as well as his, I laughed bitterly; could it be that the one thing that had kept me caged at home all my life would now work to my advantage? "But no living man am I," I said, reaching up and pulling off my helm in a swift motion. The leather cord keeping my hair back caught on the helm and pulled out, and the wind quickly unraveled the braided tresses, allowing them to spill down my back. "You look upon a woman. Éowyn I am, Éomund's daughter. You stand between me and my lord and kin. Begone, if you be not deathless. For living or dark undead, I will smite you, if you touch him!"

The Nazgûl hesitated, and I raised my shield to prepare for the attack. The beast he rode on screamed and leaped up into the air. I moved back a few steps, keeping my eye fixed on the dark creature, hoping to lure it away from Snowmane. It circled in the air, then swooped down as swift as lightning. I waited until the last possible moment, then swung at its outstretched neck with all of my strength; the blade easily cut through its exposed neck, and after one extra tug to sever bone from bone, its head dropped to the earth like a stone. I jumped backwards just in time as its body crashed to the earth, so that I was now standing between Snowmane and the fallen creature. I was vaguely aware that the sun reappeared for a moment as I waited for the next move, every muscle in my body tensing in anticipation.

I did not have to wait long. The Nazgûl dismounted from his fallen steed and walked towards me, the mace in his hand. He was a good deal taller than me, and as his dreadful eyes bored into me, I felt an overwhelming urge to flee. And yet, I was frozen in place. Never before had I felt despair so tangibly; I knew at that moment I had no chance of victory.

The wraith raised his mace with an ear-splitting cry, and I barely had enough time to raise my arm before the heavy blow fell, splintering the shield I bore. Pain ripped through my body and my left arm fell, dangling uselessly by my side as what remained of the shield dropped to the earth.

_Broken,_ I thought with a grimace. When I was younger, I had fallen off a horse and broken my arm, but I was still unprepared for the agony I felt. My mind clouded and I fell to my knees, feeling strangely weak. It seemed to me that the pure hatred radiating from this dark spirit was draining whatever strength remained in my body. I looked up slowly through the dark fog obscuring my vision to see the mace raised in the air again. I willed myself to move out of the way, but my limbs seemed unwilling to respond. The mace began hurtling towards my head, and I braced myself for the end.

The blow never came. With a cry, the wraith stumbled and the mace slammed into the ground just a few hand-breadths from my body. "Éowyn!" I heard a familiar voice call, and the darkness lifted from my sight just enough for me to see Merry standing behind the Nazgûl, clutching at the arm that still held his short sword. Somehow the Halfling had wounded him. I slowly struggled back to my feet, using my sword to support me. The wraith also straightened, though he was still favoring his leg, and reached for me with an iron-gloved hand.

For just an instant, I hesitated. The will to fight any longer had vanished; I had no strength left. I knew that my time had come; all I could hope for was it to come quickly so I could be at peace. And yet, something deep within me was unwilling to accept such an end. I stumbled back a step, half-heartedly raising my arm, then looked up at my foe again. I could feel the malice in his gaze as his hand stretched closer.

"Éowyn!" Merry cried again, this time more urgently.

I heard a muffled groan behind me, from where my uncle still lay. "No!" I cried out. I would not falter now—not while there was still a chance I could save him. This little flicker of hope renewed my strength and with a cry, I raised my sword once again and plunged it into the opening of his iron mask.

In that very instant, the blade shattered as if it had been made of glass. I cried out involuntarily as my sword arm cramped painfully; it felt as if the blood in my veins had suddenly frozen. The fog that had been creeping at the edges of my sight grew darker as the Nazgûl gave a wild, ear-splitting cry that grew ever higher in pitch. He then fell to the ground, and I stumbled backwards a step before falling to my knees once more. The hilt of my sword fell heavily from my lifeless fingers as the darkness closed swiftly around me. I heard Merry calling my name, though it grew ever more distant as the scream continued to rise, drowning out all other sound until it was all I could hear. The sound finally began to die away, and I was only vaguely aware that I was falling as my eyes closed. "Forgive me, Uncle," I whispered, my breath coming in ragged gasps. "I tried…" Then the darkness closed over me, and I could no longer see.

As I lay there, the sounds of the battle echoed around me still, though as if they came from very far away. I could vaguely hear Merry's voice, though I could not make out the words. I heard Éomer shouting as well, crying "Death take us all!" The clash of steel on iron rang hollow in my ears, but the sounds grew ever more distant. Through it all, the only thing I was clearly aware of was the cold, unlike anything I had felt in my life. It was the kind of chill I had felt many times during Rohan's long winters when a blast of icy wind would leave my exposed fingers numb and in pain at the same time, only to a much greater degree than I had ever experienced before.

I could deal with the pain. It was the helplessness that was more than I could bear. My vision had failed completely by this time, and I could neither move nor speak. My chest felt like it was being crushed, leaving me unable to breathe, and I knew I was dying Strangely, the thought gave me no peace, like I had believed it would.

It is still difficult for me to clearly remember what happened after that. A confusing jumble of images passed before me—the city going up in flames, the banner of the Rohirrim falling once more, the bloodied face of my brother as he lay on the ground, unseeing eyes staring at me accusingly. And through it all, I could sense malicious eyes staring at me from within a shadowy hood, and hear the creature's mocking laughter. I had failed. And I was still so cold; my sword-arm was completely lifeless, and the rest of my body felt as if I had been encased in ice.

And then the battle-scenes faded too, and I could no longer feel or see anything except for the cold darkness. Then my surroundings seemed to shift around me, as if I walked within a dream, and I was back on the field. Though I could faintly see the city and the river in the distance, there was no sign of life; everything was merely a shadowy grey reflection of the waking world. The sky above me was unnaturally dark, and it seemed strange to me that I could see at all. Somehow I was on my feet again, but still unable to move of my own free will.

Although what little light existed in this place was fading rapidly, I could still see a movement out of the corner of my eye. The scene shifted slightly, and a man stood there, facing away from me. In the strange half-light, I could not make out any distinguishing features, save his dark hair. "Aragorn?" I whispered hesitantly. He then became aware of me, and turned towards me. Though I still could not see his face clearly, I quickly realized that he was not Aragorn; his hair was a bit shorter and his frame thinner. Still, there was something about him that reminded me of Aragorn. The man's eyes met mine for a long moment, and I could see that he looked just as lost as I felt. Then he turned his head suddenly, as if he had heard someone call his name; I blinked, and he was gone.

I stood there, confused, as my surroundings faded into complete darkness again. Then gradually, I became aware of something else, completely foreign to this shadow-world. A light wind was caressing my face; it was not the foul wind from the battlefield that carried the scent of death and destruction, but a cool breeze that was lighter and cleaner than the wind on any mountaintop of Rohan. As the wind brushed past me, I began to regain feeling in my sword-arm, though I still lacked the strength to move it. Then it seemed to me that the wind formed words, though scarcely above a whisper.

_Awake, Éowyn, Lady of Rohan! Awake! The shadow is gone and all darkness is washed clean!_

The voice grew louder, and slightly more familiar. _Aragorn?_ I wondered. No, it could not be, I finally decided; he was gone. The darkness grew deeper as my mind filled with doubts once more.

A different, more familiar voice began to call my name, and, almost against my will, I found myself fighting to fully regain consciousness. The wind had taken on a pungent, herbal scent, and I could feel a cool dampness on my arm and forehead, though whether it was water or perspiration I did not know. I became aware that a warm hand was holding my own as the darkness I could sense through my closed eyes lightened a bit, and I now heard the murmur of concerned voices.

As my other senses returned, so did the pain. My shield arm ached dully, and every muscle in my body felt as if they had been torn apart and hurriedly reassembled. My head throbbed, and my throat felt parched. For a moment, I longed to sink back into the darkness, but the voice calling me back would not allow me to.

I finally managed to open my eyes, blinking hard to try and clear my vision as I looked at my surroundings. I was lying in a bed in a small room with pale walls; the only light came from a few candles and a small fire burning in a hearth. I could see a blank expanse of darkness through a window carved into the wall, and it made me shiver. Someone was sitting in a chair beside me, though I could not clearly see him through the shadow that seemed to still hover over my sight. The fuzzy images resolved themselves at last into a face, and I blinked hard again, this time in disbelief.

"Éomer?" I could not raise my voice above a hoarse whisper. My brother was sitting at my bedside, still fully-clad in his armor, though he had removed his helmet and riding gloves. He was holding my hand in both of his, and to my surprise, I could see traces of tears glistening on his face. He smiled a little through his tears. "What joy is this? They said you were slain!" I whispered. _Had it all been a dream then?_ I wondered as I continued, half to myself, "Nay, but that was only the dark voices in my dream. How long have I been dreaming?"

"Not long, my sister," Éomer said, his voice thick with emotion as he gently brushed the damp hair back from my forehead. "But think no more on it!"

I struggled to sit up, but I was still too weak. Even that small motion sapped whatever strength remained in me, and I finally gave up. "I am strangely weary; I must rest a little," I said in a half-whisper. Éomer nodded as I allowed my eyes to drift shut. Then suddenly, I clearly remembered the events on the field just before I had fallen. My eyes flew open. "But tell me," I asked urgently, "what of the Lord of the Mark?"

Éomer's face grew solemn, and he opened his mouth as if he wanted to speak but knew not what to say. Then I knew. "Alas, do not tell me that that was a dream, for I know that it was not," I said, my voice catching in my throat as I looked up towards the ceiling. "He is dead as he foresaw." _I could not save him._

"He is dead," Éomer finally replied. "But he bade me say farewell to Éowyn, dearer than daughter." He glanced down and fell silent for a moment, as if he was fighting with his own memories, then added, "He lies now in great honor in the Citadel of Gondor."

I lay there in numb silence, unable to think. As a child, I had learned early on that death in battle was the highest honor one could achieve. It was this belief that gave my people the courage to face the often-harsh conditions of daily life in Rohan, and this belief that had often caused me to bemoan my fate in being born a woman; it was an honor that could be only achieved by a man. "That is grievous," I finally said flatly. "And yet it is good beyond all that I dared hope in the dark days, when it seemed that the House of Eorl was sunk in honor less than any shepherd's cot." I truly was glad at what my uncle had achieved; even so, honor gained did not ease the pain for those left behind. It had not when my father died, nor did it now.

I was forgetting something; I struggled for a moment to recall it, then suddenly remembered that I had heard no tidings of Merry's fate. "And what of the king's esquire, the Halfling?" I asked, feeling panicked. I had no memory of seeing him after the shadow-creature stumbled…if something had happened to him, I knew that I would never forgive myself. "Éomer, you shall make him a knight of the Riddermark, for he is valiant!" I exclaimed, silently adding _if he is still alive._

"He lies nearby in this House, and I will go to him," a voice said from the other side of me. I turned my head to see Gandalf sitting on the other side of the bed; I had not even realized that anyone else was in the room. He smiled kindly at me and continued, "Éomer shall stay here for awhile. But do not speak yet of war or woe, until you are made whole again. Great gladness it is to see you wake again to health and hope, so valiant a lady!"

_Hope._ The very idea was a mockery. My only hope had been an honorable death, but even that was denied me now. For a brief moment, I was furious with Éomer for not just letting me die. Then I sighed; I could not blame him. Had our places been reversed, I would have done the same.

_Maybe there is still hope._ The battle was over, but the war had not yet been won. Perhaps I would still have my opportunity. I looked over at Éomer, then at Gandalf. "To health? It may be so, at least while there is an empty saddle of some fallen Rider that I can fill, and there are deeds to do." Éomer frowned, but I ignored him as I softly added to myself, "But to hope? I do not know."

Gandalf's smile faded, and his eyes grew sorrowful as he looked at me steadily. I could not bear the silent scrutiny of his gaze and turned my head away. He sighed softly, then said, "Rest now, Éowyn. I must go see to Merry." He left the room, closing the door quietly behind him.

I turned back to Éomer. "How long will you stay?"

"As long as you wish," he said. "And Gandalf is right; you should rest now."

"I do not wish to sleep," I protested; I feared slipping back into the dark dreams that had plagued me earlier. "I will be fine."

"You nearly died today, Éowyn!" Éomer exclaimed, frustration plain on his face. "If Ara…" He abruptly stopped.

My eyes, which had been growing heavy despite my best efforts to stay awake, flew back open. "What did you say?" I asked. Éomer's face bore the awkward look of someone who has said something he knew he should not have. "Éomer, what is it?"

He finally answered, "Aragorn survived the Dimholt Road. I do not know how, for I have not had much opportunity to speak with him tonight."

"That is not what you were going to say."

He sighed. "Aragorn is the one who called you back, Éowyn, not I."

A wave of conflicting emotions washed over me. Relief that he was still alive mingled with sorrow at the memory of his rejection and anger that he had healed me, only to leave me like this. _It would have been better to have died,_ I thought bitterly.

Éomer was carefully watching my reaction. "Éowyn?"

I forced my expression to stay as neutral as I could. "Perhaps you are right, Éomer. I should rest."

He watched me a moment longer. "Very well," he finally said as he pushed his chair back and stood up.

"Éomer, wait," I said, catching his hand. When he looked back down at me, I pleaded, "Please do not leave."

His grey eyes softened as he sat down again. "You will try to rest, even if I stay?"

"Yes, I promise," I said. At that point I would have said almost anything to avoid being left alone, but as weary as I felt, I did not think that I would be unable to keep that promise.

"Good." He squeezed my hand gently. "Go to sleep then. And I promise that I will still be here when you wake."

I smiled gratefully, though weakly, and closed my eyes once more.

* * *

**_A/N: Surprisingly tough one to edit. So it ended up being mostly the same. Reposted 5/28/07._**


	13. Chapter 13: Caged

**Chapter 13- Caged**

After a fitful night's sleep, I awoke to the sound of soft voices. "As well as can be expected, I suppose. Or at least he was last night. The healers say it will take time for him to recover his strength, and he is still in shock over his father. They have not told him the manner of his death yet, for which I am grateful. I believe that it would be too much for him right now," an unfamiliar voice was saying. I wondered who he was talking about as he continued with a sigh, "I have not been able to visit him this morning, nor will I be able to, it seems. And how is your sister?"

"It is hard to say." That was Éomer. "Even if she was in pain, she would never speak of it. But she is troubled, more deeply than I had thought." I fought down my embarrassment at this as best as I could, not wanting him to know I was listening. "How could I have let things go this far?" he continued, self-recrimination obvious in his voice. "I knew that all was not well with her even back in Edoras, but I never dreamed that it would come to this."

"I do not know if there is anything you could have done to prevent her from coming, Éomer," the other man said. "But she is safe, at least as safe as anyone in these lands can be now."

"Yes, and I owe you a great debt for that. If you had not seen that she was still alive…" Éomer's voice trailed off, and a pang of guilt struck me; I had not realized that he was so distraught. Though my brother was by no means timid about speaking his mind, it was not usually like him to talk so openly about his feelings. "I know that this meeting is important, Imrahil, but I cannot leave her yet. I promised her that I would still be here when she wakes."

Before the other man could respond, I finally allowed myself to stir a little in order to give him the impression that I was just waking up. A muffled groan that I could not quite stifle escaped my lips as the slight movement caused another bolt of pain to shoot down my left arm. "Éowyn!" Éomer exclaimed, beside me in an instant as I opened my eyes. "How are you feeling?" he asked with concern in his voice.

"A little better," I said hesitantly. The ache in my muscles from the journey had lessened to a mere stiffness, and my head no longer felt as if it was being split open. Even the pain in my broken arm had eased somewhat. My sword-arm still felt stiff and cold, but I thought that would go away soon. At least I hoped so. Seeing that he was once more clad in his armor—if he had even taken it off at all—I asked, "Are you going somewhere?"

He nodded. "The lords of Gondor have called for a council to discuss what action we should take next. I do not know how long I will be gone—will you be all right?"

"Yes, I will be fine," I said, slowly forcing myself into a sitting position and drawing the blanket up over the shift I was wearing. I hoped the simple movement would be enough to convince Éomer that I had improved during the night, though it drained my strength far more than I had expected it to.

It seemed to work. "I should go then," he replied, reluctantly standing up. As he did, I looked towards the door to see a tall man standing there, obviously of Gondor. His raven hair was slightly touched by grey around his temples, and his grey eyes regarded me with a piercing gaze. Oddly, he had an air about him that reminded me a bit of the Elves I had encountered recently. Éomer followed my gaze. "Forgive me for my rudeness," he said, looking back at me. "Éowyn, this is Prince Imrahil, Lord of Dol Amroth."

"My lady," he said, bowing slightly. "I am glad to see that you are recovering."

"Thank you, my lord," I said politely, glancing over at Éomer.

He understood the unspoken question and quietly explained, "Lord Imrahil is the one who discovered that you were still alive after the battle." I nodded, and Éomer squeezed my hand gently. "I will return as soon as I can," he said, turning to Imrahil and adding, "Let us go."

Once the two men had left, I studied my surroundings. The room was tiny, barely able to hold the sparse furnishings. There was only the bed I sat upon, a small table with a pitcher and water basin upon it, the high-backed wooden chair that Éomer had pulled beside the bed, and a narrow wardrobe against the opposite wall. The walls, instead of being stone as I had originally thought, were covered in a creamy white plaster that took on a slightly golden hue in the morning light. A small fireplace of light brown-streaked stone had been built into the wall that stood opposite of the bed, with several candles resting on the mantle. The same brown stone had been used to pave the floor. There was one window in the room; judging by the way the light came in, it seemed to be facing north.

I roughly pushed the blankets off, shivering slightly as the cool morning air penetrated the simple linen nightshift that I was wearing, and carefully swung my legs off the edge of the bed. The stone felt almost unbearably cold under my bare feet, and I hastily jerked them back. Now that I was fully sitting up, I could see a wooden chest at the foot of the bed and my cloak lying on top, neatly folded even though it bore traces of blood and grime from the battle.

I gingerly set my feet on the ground once more and stood up, closing my eyes and grabbing the wooden bedpost for support as the room began to tilt a little. After a few tentative steps, I finally ended up collapsing back onto the mattress and closing my eyes, feeling strangely exhausted. _How can a broken arm make me so weak?_ I wondered in frustration. Though it was little more than a childhood memory, I was nearly certain that my strength had not been so easily sapped the last time I had similarly injured myself.

Not daring to attempt to stand again quite yet, I began carefully using my unbroken arm to help scoot myself further down the mattress while remaining seated. Finally, I reached the end of the bed and picked up the cloak, fumbling to maneuver it around my shoulders with only one arm. I succeeded at last, and as I grabbed the neck of the cloak to hold it closed, my hand closed around cool metal. I opened my fingers slightly and looked down to see the clasp that Théoden had given me, still pinned to the cloak. My fingers clenched more tightly around it, clutching the silver horse head as if my very life depended on it, and forcing back the sudden grief that threatened to overwhelm me.

After resting for a time, I decided to try walking again, and moved towards the window. By the time I reached it, I could not stand up without support any longer and leaned heavily against the wall as I looked out. Through the glass, I could see nothing but stone. Below me, there was an empty, narrow street of light-colored stone. The same stone had been used to construct the buildings across the street and the wall encircling this level of the city, which I could see through gaps in the line of buildings. Even the sky, a featureless shade of grey, could have been made of stone. I shuddered slightly at the sight of it, feeling trapped.

My thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the door opening and a cry of alarm. "My lady! You should not be out of bed yet!"

I turned and saw a petite, dark-haired woman standing in the doorway. She could not have been much older than I, but she shook her head in an almost motherly fashion as she briskly walked over and took my right arm, attempting to steer me back towards the bed. "Come, my lady, you must rest."

I pulled my arm away roughly, nearly dropping my cloak as I did so. The swift motion made my head spin a little and I pressed my back against the wall for support, hoping she would not notice. "I feel fine."

"Our instructions were to see that you do not attempt to rise until your strength is fully recovered," she said firmly.

"And it is, or I would not have risen," I argued. It was not true, of course, as my brief foray out of bed had drained most of what little energy I had recovered. But my pride would not allow me to let this woman order me around.

An older woman poked her head into the door. A dark scarf covered her silvery-grey hair, and from where I stood, I could see the lines etched into her forehead and around her eyes. "Is there a problem, Mithríel?" she asked, giving me a disapproving glance.

"The lady refuses to lie down, Mistress Ioreth," the younger healer answered.

"I do not see why I should be made to lie down when I will recover more quickly if I am allowed to rebuild my strength," I said, turning back towards the window just long enough to decide that I hated the view.

Ioreth entered the room, giving me a stern look. "My lady, both the Lord Éomer and the Lord Aragorn asked me to keep a close eye on you. I will not have you give them cause to say I did not fulfill my duty."

My frown grew deeper as I wondered why Aragorn insisted on showing such concern for my welfare, when he would not even deign to see for himself how I fared. I sighed inwardly, but decided that for my brother's sake, I would listen—for now. "Fine," I growled, and walked past them to sit down on the bed with my back resting against the headboard as I glared at the fireplace across the room. I knew it was a childish reaction, but I did not care.

Ioreth and Mithríel looked at each other. "I will return to check on you again later, my lady," Mithríel said politely.

"Very well," I muttered, barely glancing up as the two women left, then pulling the blankets up to warm myself. I hoped they would stay away for awhile; I needed to think.

I could not help feeling frustrated; even with all the effort I had put into my plan, it seemed I had accomplished nothing except to trade one prison for another. And this time, I could see no way of escape. But I could not give up that easily; one way or another, there would be another battle, and I was determined to be a part of it.

_But how?_ I wondered. Disguising myself would be much more difficult this time, especially with my arm to contend with. Undoubtedly, Éomer would be keeping a close eye on me anyway to try and prevent me from doing such a thing again. And as much as I hated to admit it, I still felt greatly weakened from the battle the day before—much more than a broken bone should account for. I glanced down at my sword-arm. Though I kept it covered, the heat from the woolen blankets did not seem to ward off the slightly numbing chill that still lingered. My brow furrowed as I looked at it, suddenly troubled.

A tentative knock on the door interrupted my thoughts again. "What?" I called out crossly. The door opened, and a small figure with light golden-brown curls tentatively poked his head inside with a nervous expression on his face. My eyes widened and I cried out, "Merry! Forgive me, I thought you were one of the healers. Please, come in."

He gave me a half-hearted grin, and slowly made his way in, half-supported by another hobbit, this one with darker brown hair. "Éowyn, this is my cousin, Peregrin Took," Merry said by way of introduction.

The other Halfling bowed slightly. "But you can call me Pippin," he added with a grin. Though his expression bore the marks of one who had recently been through a great trial, his green eyes still held a hint of mischief that I suspected rarely left.

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Pippin," I replied, nodding my head politely, then turning back to Merry as Pippin pushed the chair closer to the bed. "Why have they kept you here?" I asked, noting how tired Merry seemed to look as he climbed up into the chair. "Are you hurt?"

"Just my arm, a little," he admitted, rubbing his forearm absently. Then he looked up at me, concern in his brown eyes. "How are you?"

"I will be fine," I said automatically. _Will you?_ a nagging voice in my head wondered, but I ignored it. "Although, you would think I had broken both my legs instead of my arm, the way these healers insist on treating me like a complete invalid," I added crossly.

Pippin glanced over at Merry, then bowed deeply. "I will leave you two alone—there's a friend of mine here I wish to visit," he said. "But I will come back for you in a bit, Merry. It's a pleasure to meet you, my lady." I wondered at his hasty departure as he left, but at the same time I was grateful. There was something I knew I needed to say to Merry, and felt much more at ease without the additional company.

"Merry, I…forgive me," I blurted out. "I never should have brought you into this."

"I'm not sorry," he said, a determined gleam lighting up his eyes briefly before his face fell again. "I just wish I could have been more of a help."

I hesitated before speaking again. I knew that Merry had played a large part in my survival, but though I did not wish to hurt his feelings or belittle what he had done, I could not feel grateful. And yet, somehow I knew it was my duty to try to reassure him. "If not for the help you gave, I would not be here now to speak with you," I finally answered softly.

It seemed to work, as he quickly brightened up again. "Then I am glad that I came," he said with a smile. His expression grew sad again as he added, "I am truly sorry though, about your uncle. I wish I could have known him better." I dropped my head a little, biting my lip, and he quickly apologized, "Forgive me, Éowyn, I did not mean to upset you."

"I am fine," I repeated. Perhaps if I told myself that enough, I would start to believe it.

-------

Éomer did not return for the remainder of that day, nor for most of the next. After Merry left me, I spent the majority of the time sleeping or testing my strength by walking around the room, listening carefully for any footsteps in the hall. While I was up, I searched all throughout the wardrobe and chest, but I found nothing that would help me. It was just as I had suspected—they had not kept the armor or the men's clothing I had worn, at least not in a place where I could find them. The chest held nothing but a few extra blankets, and the wardrobe was empty except for an extra shift. And despite my best efforts, I could not think of any way to get out of my room long enough to see if there was anything in the Houses that could help me. Just as an experiment, I had tried once to sneak out of my room, and gained nothing from it but a tongue-lashing from Ioreth. All this made me even more determined to find a way to leave; if I had to spend many more days imprisoned in such a manner, I was certain that I would go mad.

Night had already fallen when Éomer finally returned, and I knew as soon as he walked in the door that it was going to be an unpleasant conversation. I could almost feel the tension radiating from him, and wondered what had happened in that meeting.

I straightened up as he sat down next to the bed, looking as if he was considering how to say something. I broke the silence first. "What did you decide?"

Éomer's face bore the same determined look that I had seen during our last meeting in Dunharrow—the look of a soldier who knew he was being sent off to die, but would obey his orders regardless. "We are going to Mordor."

"Mordor?" I repeated, surprised. With the constant threat to our lands from the orcs, Dunland and, more recently, Isengard, Mordor had been of little concern to the Rohirrim for many long years. Even so, though any mention of it was hardly more than whispers of a distant evil, the name itself was still enough to make even a seasoned warrior shudder. "But why?" I asked.

"Do you remember when we were children, and Mother told us that tale about the last King of Gondor and the magic ring?"

I nodded slowly; it was one of the stories that my grandmother, a lady of Gondor, had passed down to her, and she in turn had told it to us. "For years afterwards, I thought all rings possessed some kind of magic," I replied.

A faint smile briefly crossed Éomer's face, but it was quickly replaced by the stern expression he had worn when he arrived. "The story was true."

I stared at him incredulously. "What?"

Éomer sounded as if he only half-believed it himself as he said, "They have found the Ring, and one of Merry's kinsmen and his servant are carrying it to Mount Doom. Gandalf says that it is the only place in Middle-Earth where it can be destroyed. If they can accomplish this, then the Dark Lord's power will be broken, and so what remains of the combined strength of Gondor and Rohan will ride into Mordor to draw his Eye away from two Halflings." He shook his head, though whether it was at the desperate plan or bewilderment at suddenly learning that yet another legend passed down among our people had come to life, I could not tell. Perhaps it was a bit of both.

"But we have lost so many; where will you find enough men to fight?" I asked.

"We will not," he said flatly. "And the lords of Gondor do not wish to leave Minas Tirith entirely undefended. We will just bring enough to make the forces of the Dark Lord believe that we still think we can resist him."

I stayed silent for a moment. "When will you leave?" I finally asked.

"In the morning," he said. I silently began planning; I would need to find a sword, and find out where they had put my armor. And I would need a horse, because even I had to admit that I could not walk all the way to Mordor in this state…

Éomer seemed to read my thoughts, and firmly stated, "You are not going."

My gaze jerked up to meet his. "You cannot stop me," I said defiantly.

"You are injured. This battle is no place for you." His brow furrowed. "And neither was the last one, for that matter. What on earth were you thinking?"

"I could not stay behind and do nothing this time. Surely you should be able to understand that," I said.

Éomer's frown deepened. "The King left you in charge of the encampment. You walked away from your duty and disobeyed a direct order. That is a very serious offense, Éowyn."

"And what about you, riding out against those orcs when you were directly ordered not to?" I pointed out.

His eyes flashed dangerously. "That was different. I was doing what I thought was best for our people. You were… I do not know what you were thinking, but you certainly were not thinking of our people, or you would not have left them with little defense and no one to lead them!"

"What are you going to do then? Drag me back to Edoras and lock me in the dungeon?" I knew Éomer was getting angry, but I could not back down. "Do you wish me to apologize because I did not wish to be parted from you and our uncle, after you told me you would never return? Or shall I beg your forgiveness because I wanted to meet my end with honor instead of waiting behind to be butchered like a caged animal? Is that what you wish to hear?"

Éomer abruptly stood up and began pacing the room. "I cannot discuss this with you any further tonight. There is still much that needs to be done before we can ride."

"Then let me help," I said, deciding to try a different tactic.

"No!" I was surprised at how angry he sounded. "You will remain here."

"Éomer, please! I will go mad if I stay behind!" I protested.

"It seems to me that you have gone mad already," he snapped. "You are obviously in no condition to fight, Éowyn. You cannot hold a shield, you can barely even stand up!"

I glared at him as I pulled myself out of the bed, using the bedpost as a support once again. Once I was on my feet, I just raised an eyebrow at him, silently challenging him to come up with another argument.

"Even if you can stand, you cannot march. I doubt that you could stay in your saddle, if you can get into it at all with that arm. You will stay here, and I will not accept any further argument from you!" He turned and began to move towards the door.

"You cannot force me to stay, you mule-headed…" I started to say, walking a few steps after him.

Éomer whirled around, his face flushed with anger as his grey eyes narrowed. "By the gods, Éowyn, what has gotten into you? Do you _want_ to die?" I opened my mouth, ready to point out that he had just admitted he was riding off on a suicide mission, but as my eyes locked with his, I could not refute him, and I was the first to break the gaze. When I glanced up at my brother again, he looked bewildered. We stood there in a painful silence for a few moments. Finally, he spoke again, his voice dangerously low. "You will stay in Minas Tirith if I have to tie you to your bed myself to keep you here." He opened the door and stepped out of the room, then without turning back he added softly, almost to himself, "I already thought I lost you once, Éowyn. If there is any hope at all that Gandalf's plan will succeed, I need to know that you are safe here." Then he shut the door firmly behind him.

I pulled the door open and rushed out into the hall, not wanting him to have the last word. "Éomer!" I called out, grabbing his arm. He wrenched it from my grasp without even looking at me and kept walking. I glared at his retreating back for a minute before re-entering my room, slamming the door in frustration. Then I sat down on the bed, determined to come up with a plan before I went to sleep. There had to be some other soldiers in the Houses that I could gather a disguise from. _Maybe this time I should go with the Gondorian army,_ I pondered. _If I keep the helmet on, no one will notice my hair. I wonder where I could find some of their armor…_

-------

In spite of my best efforts to stay awake, my body betrayed me in its weakened state. The next thing I knew, the room was already bright with morning sunlight. I briefly wondered how the sun could still possibly be shining when everything else seemed to be growing darker by the moment. Then I suddenly remembered that I still needed to find a way to escape, and jumped out of my bed; I instantly regretted the swift movement as the room tilted dangerously. Once I had steadied myself, I grabbed my cloak and wrapped it around my shoulders, then hurried to the door.

It would not open, though the latch seemed to be working fine. I stared at it in shock for a moment, then tried again. It still would not budge. My eyes widened in realization, and I threw my full weight against the door, but to no avail; I had not the strength to move it. "Éomer, you mule-headed lout!" I shouted as I pounded on the door. "Let me out of here!" But there was no answer.

I hurried to the window without thinking, not remembering until I reached it that I would see nothing but the unyielding stone buildings. I ran back to the door now, beating on it again in frustration. Finally I realized that no one was going to come, and I backed away a few steps, feeling suddenly panicked at the thought of being trapped in the small room.

A muffled, but familiar voice outside called out, "Éowyn? Are you in there?"

"Merry, I cannot open the door!" I cried.

"The door is blocked. Wait a moment," he answered, and I heard him say, "Bergil, can you give me a hand?" I heard a series of scraping sounds, as if something heavy was being pushed across the floor. Then the door opened, and Merry was there, a dark-haired boy who was about the same height as the Halfling standing slightly behind him.

"What was it?" I asked.

"There was a heavy chest in front of the door," Merry replied. _Éomer._ The realization struck me hard, and I stumbled backwards slightly before sitting heavily on the bed. A look of alarm crossed Merry's face. "Éowyn, are you well?"

I knew even before I asked. "He has gone already." My voice sounded distant, even to my own ears. Merry gave a small nod, and I looked down at the floor. My brother was gone, and nothing short of a miracle would give me the chance to see him again. _I never even got to say goodbye, _I realized, and silently cursed myself, knowing full well that it was my own fault that we had parted on such ill terms.

I barely noticed when Merry sat down next to me, until the boy bowed and departed. Then, without looking at him, I asked, "Where is your cousin?"

"He also left with the army this morning," Merry said softly. Then we fell silent, each of us alone in our own grief.

* * *

**_A/N: The last conversation between Eowyn and Eomer was reworked quite a bit--I'm hoping this will give a little more insight into his actions both here and in later stories I've written that he's featured in (namely, The Best Laid Plans)._**

**_And, for the record, the next new chapter is in the works, though real life has gotten in the way for a few weeks and I'm just now getting back to it. Thank you for your patience._**

**_Reposted 7/28/07_**


	14. Chapter 14: The Steward and the Shieldma...

**Chapter 14- The Steward and the Shieldmaiden**

I stayed in bed for the rest of the day; I felt too numb to do anything else. Once they realized I was being unresponsive and not even going to attempt to argue with them, the women who came to tend me began to exchange worried glances when they thought I was not looking, and speak in hushed whispers as soon as they left the room. I saw, but I cared not. Nothing seemed to matter anymore, now that the only family I had left had gone off to his doom without so much as a farewell.

The next day, I was feeling increasingly restless, especially since no one seemed to know any news regarding the company that had ridden out. By the third day, my shock and restlessness had turned into anger, particularly at Éomer for leaving me behind in such a manner. But since he was not there, it did not take long for me to direct my frustration at every unfortunate person who dared to cross my path. When a young woman, who introduced herself as Idril, brought me a bowlful of thin porridge for breakfast, I asked her if she had heard any news of the fate of those who had gone to war. She looked surprised, then told me, "But they only left two days ago, my lady." The glare I directed at her sent her hurrying off as if an orc was pursuing her.

It seemed that Mithríel was the healer assigned specifically to me; at any rate, I had seen her the most over the last several days. She arrived shortly after breakfast, frowned to see how little I had eaten, then set about the task of unbinding my arm. "Mithríel," I asked, "have you heard of any news about the men?"

She shook her head after sparing me a sympathetic look. "None, my lady," she said. "Nor will any tidings arrive today, most likely. Why, I would be surprised if they have even reached the borders yet."

"Thank you," I mumbled. Though I was by no means satisfied with the answer, at least she had been more straightforward with me than anyone else I had spoken to thus far. I remained silent while she finished checking the splint and re-wrapping the bandages around my arm, then she left with the promise of returning later.

_So this is how it will end,_ I thought bitterly. _Left behind again, helpless to do anything but wait._ I could no longer even dare to hope that I would somehow find a way to meet my fate with honor. For a long while, I stared at what little I could see of the view outside the window. As the morning dragged on, I became increasingly bored and restless. The monotony was broken slightly when Idril returned with the noontime meal, but I quickly grew restless again. Finally, I tossed off the blankets and stood up.

The time of rest had done me good, I reluctantly admitted. Except for the unnatural chill I still felt, my strength had almost returned completely, and I had no difficulty in walking about my room. Knowing this only increased my desire to find something—anything—to occupy myself with; I could not bear the thought of waiting in my bed for whatever doom would overtake the city. With this thought in mind, I began searching around my room for something to wear besides my cloak and nightshift. There had to be someone in this house whom I could speak with about this matter, and I was determined to find him.

The door abruptly opened again. "What are you doing?" Mithríel asked, her grey-green eyes narrowing. "You should not be out of bed!"

"If I spend another moment in that bed today, I will surely go mad," I retorted, slamming the still-empty wardrobe door shut in frustration. _Where on earth am I going to find some decent clothing?_ I wondered. In spite of my eagerness to leave, I was hesitant to go walking about in naught but my borrowed shift. "Is there no one I can speak with?"

Mithríel gave me an exasperated look. "But my lady, you have not yet fully recovered!"

"I am well enough," I said as I awkwardly threw my cloak over my shoulders. It was not much covering, but it would have to do.

After a long moment, the dark-haired woman sighed in resignation. "Will you at least allow me to help you get properly dressed?" I nodded my assent, feeling relieved, and she left the room for what seemed like an age. When she finally returned, she was carrying several garments draped over one arm, and, thankfully, my own riding boots in the other hand. She helped me into a blue-grey gown of the fashion that the women of Gondor wore. The dress was too short at my ankles and wrists, and Mithríel gave me an apologetic look. "It was all I could find on such short notice," she said as she helped me lace up my boots. "We will have something to fit you better soon. Your brother gave us one of your dresses, and a seamstress who remained in the city is using it for measurements."

"One of my dresses? But how?" Just as I finished asking the question, I remembered stuffing my dress into my saddlebag at the last minute before leaving Dunharrow. "Oh…never mind," I sighed. Even though it had been scarcely a week since I had left, it seemed a lifetime ago.

Mithríel nodded but did not reply as she tied a wide strip of linen around my neck to serve as a sling for my arm. "Come, my lady, I will take you to the Warden now," she said as she finished. She led me down the hall, then knocked firmly on a heavy wooden door.

The door opened to reveal a room full of herbs and roots in various stages of drying, either spread out on fine wire mesh supported by wooden frames or hanging from various hooks in bunches. An elderly man was sitting at a table where he was packaging up the herbs that were ready to be used. He turned slightly in his chair as he heard us enter, a look of slight surprise in his light blue eyes. "Daeron," Mithríel said, "The Lady Éowyn wishes to speak with you."

The Warden rose slowly, and the skin around his eyes crinkled in a polite smile as he looked at me for a long moment. "How may I help you, my lady?" he finally asked.

"Sir," I said, "I am in great unrest, and I cannot lie longer in sloth."

The smile faded. "Lady, you are not yet healed, and I was commanded to tend you with especial care," he said firmly. I scowled, wondering why Éomer insisted on my being treated like a complete invalid. Daeron continued, "You should not have risen from your bed for seven days yet, or so I was bidden. I beg you to go back."

"I am healed!" I insisted. "Healed at least in body, save my left arm only, and that is at ease. But I shall sicken anew, if there is nothing that I can do." He shook his head, so I decided to try a different approach. "Are there no tidings of war? The women can tell me nothing."

"There are no tidings, save that the Lords have ridden to Morgul Vale; and men say that the new captain out of the North is their chief." _Aragorn,_ I thought sadly. If my reaction showed on my face, he did not notice as he added, "A great lord is that, and a healer; and it is a thing passing strange to me that the healing hand should also wield the sword. It is not thus in Gondor now, though once it was so, if old tales be true. But for long years we healers have only sought to patch the rents made by the men of swords. Though we should still have enough to do without them." He sighed and stated, "The world is full enough of hurts and mischances without wars to multiply them."

_Does everyone in Gondor ramble on so much?_ I wondered, quickly growing irritated. "It needs but one foe to breed a war, not two, Master Warden. And those who have not swords can still die upon them," I said, fidgeting in place as I gestured towards the drying racks. "Would you have the folk of Gondor gather you herbs only, when the Dark Lord gathers armies? And it is not always good to be healed in body. Nor is it always evil to die in battle, even in bitter pain." My gaze drifted to the east window and my hand clenched, longing for the comforting weight of a sword-hilt. "Were I permitted, in this dark hour I would choose the latter." The Warden gave no reply, and after a moment I turned back to him. "Is there no deed to do? Who commands in this City?" I asked.

"I do not rightly know; such things are not my care." I gritted my teeth in frustration; it seemed that no one in the Houses knew anything about what was truly important right now. "There is a marshal over the Riders of Rohan, and the Lord Húrin, I am told, commands the men of Gondor. But the Lord Faramir is by right the Steward of the City."

_Finally!_ I thought; perhaps he would be more willing to hear me out. "Where can I find him?" I asked.

"In this house, lady. He was sorely hurt, but is now set again on the way to health. But I do not know…"

"Will you not bring me to him?" I interrupted, not caring how rude I was being. "Then you will know." Daeron looked exasperated but bowed slightly, then motioned for me to follow him.

As we walked, I tried to plan out my argument. The name Daeron had given sounded vaguely familiar—probably some lord of Gondor that had been mentioned in passing in the court at Edoras. But if the people I had encountered thus far in the Houses were any indication, I would need to have a clear idea of exactly what I wanted to say in order to avoid being distracted by the Gondorians' flowery manner of speech. I was thoroughly convinced that the healers were in the wrong for holding me there against my will—I chose to ignore my brother's wishes for the moment. Even so, in spite of my determination to leave, I was feeling rather apprehensive by the time we reached the door. What if the Steward had already heard how I had come to be in Minas Tirith? Would he be as disapproving of my actions as Éomer had been?

Daeron pushed the door open, motioned for me to walk through, then followed me into the garden. It seemed a pleasant enough place, although after seeing nothing but stone for three days, any patch of weeds would have been a welcome sight. The grass was interrupted by neat beds of young plants—some of the herbs they used for healing, I guessed. A few short trees stood near the walls, offering some shade in the young leaves and swelling buds that were already beginning to grow in this southern land, seemingly in spite of the darkness to the East. The entire garden was encircled with a wall of the same white stone that the entire city seemed to be made of, with a broad walkway atop the outer wall that was surrounded by a parapet, about waist-high. A narrow staircase led up to the top of the wall, with a narrow stone pathway, occasionally branching off to run between the beds, between the wall and the door where I stood now.

But all my attention was focused on the man standing alone on top of the walkway. His back was to us as he looked out towards the east, one hand resting on top of the wall and the other bound up in a sling similar to mine. I stood silently, pondering how I would approach this and trying to size him up. Even from behind, I could tell that Gondor's Steward was far younger than I had been expecting. It also seemed to me that there was something strangely familiar about him, though I could not quite place it.

"Lord Faramir," he said. As the man turned towards us, I froze in shock, and everything I had been planning to say flew out of my head. _It cannot be,_ I thought. _That is impossible. _He was tall, perhaps even a little taller than my brother, and he did not look much older than Éomer either. His face was clean-shaven, and his straight, raven-black hair was cropped shorter than the men of Rohan wore theirs. And although I had not seen his face clearly before, there was no doubt in my mind that he was the man I had seen in my dream after the battle. But how could that be?

He glanced at the Warden briefly, then his eyes turned to me, and a surprised look crossed his face. He kept looking at me in disbelief as he quickly descended from the wall and moved towards us. Daeron continued speaking, and the man's piercing gaze finally turned from me, much to my relief. "My lord, here is the Lady Éowyn of Rohan. She rode with the King and was sorely hurt, and dwells now in my keeping. But she is not content, and she wishes to speak with the Steward of the City." He could not keep a hint of sarcasm out of his voice as he spoke.

"Do not misunderstand him, lord," I blurted out. His eyes turned back to me, and for a minute I feared I had offended him by insulting the skill of his city's healers, so I continued, "It is not lack of care that grieves me. No houses could be fairer, for those who desire to be healed. But I cannot lie in sloth, idle, caged. I looked for death in battle. But I have not died, and the battle still goes on."

Faramir looked at the Warden and nodded as if in signal, and Daeron bowed deeply and left. As the old man was leaving, Faramir and I carefully studied each other for a long moment. The slight pallor to his face told me he was recovering from some recent illness in addition to his injury, though he stood straight and did not seem to be in any pain. And although he still looked somewhat surprised at my presence, his expression had relaxed into a kinder one. Though his build was slighter than that of many of the men I grew up with, the man was obviously a warrior; I could guess that it was likely that he could evenly match any warrior of my own people in combat. For my part, I had the uncomfortable feeling that he could see right through me as he held my gaze, almost as if he could read my thoughts. The look in his eyes, a mixture of deep sorrow and gentleness, left me strangely unnerved, yet at the same time there was something about it that made me believe that perhaps he might understand.

"What would you have me do, lady?" he finally asked softly. "I also am a prisoner of the healers." I automatically opened my mouth to answer, but I had not been expecting such a reply, and so no words came. "What do you wish?" he asked again. "If it lies in my power, I will do it."

"I would have you command this Warden, and bid him let me go," I said, my words sounding more confident than I felt. I was certain that I sounded like a petulant child, and was suddenly irritated at myself.

If he thought so as well, he showed no sign of it. "I myself am in the Warden's keeping," he answered, "nor have I yet taken up my authority in the City. But had I done so, I should still listen to his counsel, and should not cross his will in matters of his craft, unless in some great need."

"But I do not desire healing!" I exclaimed, feeling more certain of myself again. _Why can no one understand this?_ "I wish to ride to war like my brother Éomer, or better like Théoden the King, for he died and has both honor and peace."

Faramir looked surprised at the request, then sad. "It is too late, lady, to follow the Captains, even if you had the strength. But death in battle may come to us all yet, willing or unwilling. You will be better prepared to face it in your own manner, if while there is still time you do as the healer commanded." He paused, then added in a tone that made him seem as reluctant to admit it as I was to hear it, "You and I, we must endure with patience the hours of waiting."

I wanted to argue with him, but something in me finally broke at his words, though he had been far from unkind. Feeling suddenly helpless, my head dropped as a lump swelled in my throat. My eyes filled with tears, and one trickled down my cheek before I could stop it. I could not look back up at him as I desperately fought back the tears; I would not allow myself to be so weak as to weep in front of a man I had just met. "But the healers would have me lie abed seven days yet," I finally said softly. "And my window does not look eastward."

"Your window does not look eastward?" he repeated. "That can be amended." I hesitantly raised my eyes up to his, though my head was still bowed, and he smiled at me sadly, though kindly. "In this I will command the Warden. If you will stay in this house in our care, lady, and take your rest, then you shall walk in this garden in the sun, as you will; and you shall look east, where all our hopes have gone." I breathed a sigh of relief, grateful that I would not be confined to my room any longer. I was about to thank him and take my leave, but his next words startled me. "And here you will find me, walking and waiting, and also looking east. It would ease my care, if you would speak to me, or walk at times with me."

My head snapped up, my eyes locking with his. Looking closer, I could see now that there was a hint of blue in his grey eyes, which were filled with the pain of some recent grief. But they were also kind, and I was shocked to realize that he was completely serious. "How should I ease your care, my lord?" I asked. "And I do not desire the speech of living men." Then I bit my lip, thinking that perhaps I had insulted him.

If he was offended, he did not show it. "Would you have my plain answer?" he asked.

"I would," I said. _It is past time I got a plain answer out of _anyone_ here_, I silently added

"Then, Éowyn of Rohan, I say to you that you are beautiful. In the valleys of our hills there are flowers fair and bright, and maidens fairer still; but neither flower nor lady have I seen till now in Gondor so lovely, and so sorrowful." The unexpected compliment brought the blood rushing to my cheeks, though I could see no insincerity in his face. Even so, I was completely unprepared for his next statement. "It may be that only a few days are left ere darkness falls upon our world, and when it comes I hope to face it steadily; but it would ease my heart, if while the sun yet shines, I could see you still. For you and I have both passed under the wings of the Shadow, and the same hand drew us back."

I stiffened at his last words, my eyes wide. In my disconcerted state, I could only think of one way he could have known about that… _But that was just a dream!_ I silently protested. I was sure my face was several different shades of red as I stammered, "Alas, not me, lord! Shadow lies on me still. Look not to me for healing; I am a shieldmaiden and my hand is ungentle." Wormtongue had been right about that one thing, at least. Faramir's brow furrowed slightly as I added, "But I thank you for this at least, that I need not keep to my chamber. I will walk abroad by the grace of the Steward of the City." With that, I gave a quick curtsey and turned to go. My cheeks were still burning as I reached the door leading back into the Houses. For just a moment I hesitated and looked back; he was still watching me, a thoughtful look on his face. I quickly whirled around and fled into the safety of the Houses.

-------

I stood at the window of my new quarters, looking out over the fields towards the shadowy mountains of the East. Occasionally, I could see a reddish flicker like fire beyond the mountains, interrupting the growing twilight and causing me to shiver. I knew I would not see the armies by this point; they would be passing through the mountains now, if not already on the other side. But still I watched, desperately hoping for any sort of sign that my brother was still alive.

And the Lord Aragorn, of course, I belatedly added. It was a shock to realize that this was the first time I had really thought about him all afternoon. My mind had been completely preoccupied after my meeting with the Steward, as I could not help wondering why on earth he had expressed an interest in my company.

My head dropped a little at the thought, and I noticed that I could see the gardens from the window if I looked down. The early evening light was still enough that I could see two figures wandering slowly through the garden. One was tall with black hair gleaming faintly in the fading light, the other about half his height with golden-brown curls. Though I could not see their faces from above, it looked as if they were deeply engrossed in their conversation.

As I watched Faramir and Merry, for a moment I longed for someone to talk to, and considered going down to join them. Then, as if he sensed me watching, Faramir's face turned to look up at my window. I quickly darted out of sight and sat down on the bed. Though I knew I was being a coward, I could not bear to see the pity that I knew would be in his eyes.

And so, for the rest of the evening, I remained alone with my confused thoughts. There was nothing else I could do.

-------

I stood alone in a large room, the only light coming from a few torches standing by a bier at the far wall. The light flickered off the tall, dark marble columns that stood at regular intervals near the walls. The floors and walls were all also cold marble. Shadows filled every corner, giving me the feeling that I was standing in a tomb.

I slowly moved towards the bier. As I drew closer, I could see that it was my uncle who had been laid there, his unmoving hands resting on the hilt of his sword. He looked like he was only sleeping, and for a moment I could believe that perhaps none of this had really happened—that I could open my eyes, and find that everything that had happened since Théodred died had been some terrible dream. "Uncle?" I whispered tentatively, hoping against hope that he would open his eyes and smile up at me, as he had only weeks ago when Gandalf had healed him.

He made no answer, as I knew in my heart he would not. I drew my cloak a little tighter, clutching at the horsehead pin until I felt the edges digging into my palm, stumbling back a little as the realization finally sank in that he was gone forever.

My vision blurred as a tear began to trickle slowly down my cheek, followed by several more. I had no strength left to hold them back. "I failed you," I finally choked out. "I tried, but I could not help you. Not with Wormtongue, and not with…" my voice trailed off; I could not bear to mention the Witch-King aloud. Just the thought brought a chill to my fingertips, which slowly began to creep up my hand.

"It should have been me instead," I whispered. "All I wanted was to find an honorable end. I would have gladly died beside you, Uncle…I would give anything to trade places with you." My voice broke in a sob. "Our people still need you…Éomer and I still need you. What hope do we have with you gone?"

And when he is gone, what then? There is no one left.

Gríma's words came back to me as clearly as if they had been spoken anew. I whirled around, eyeing the shadows behind the columns, but I could see nothing.

You knew this was going to happen. The King is dead. Your brother will soon be dead. There is no one left.

"Éomer will return," I whispered automatically. It was the only hope I had left to cling to. "He has to…I never got to say farewell…"

A cloaked figure stepped out from behind the column, a dark hood pulled low over his face. "This war cannot be won. Your brother will fall, Aragorn will fall, and the world of Men with them." The voice—Wormtongue's voice, I realized, though the figure was taller—grew more malicious, and I suddenly realized that my arm was completely numbed. The chill was spreading quickly now. Still he continued, every word driving me deeper into despair. "The Shadow will cover all, and your end will come too, Éowyn daughter of Éomund. And you will have to face it alone, just as you have always been alone." The hood fell back slightly to reveal only shadow where Gríma's face should have been.

"No…" I stumbled back. "You are dead! I killed you!" I whispered. The figure reached for me, and I stepped back once more, stumbling as my leg hit the stairs. He had me cornered, and I could feel him pulling me back into the shadowy land that Aragorn had called me back from. My sight dimmed once more as he reached his armor-clad hand towards me…

My eyes flew open as I sat up in bed, covered in sweat and gasping for air. It had only been a dream, I realized as I fell back against the mattress, but waking was no better. It took me a moment to notice that tears were running down my face unchecked. Too weak to fight them anymore, I buried my face in the pillow and wept for the cousin I had lost, the uncle I had so utterly failed, and the brother who would not return. When my muffled sobs finally subsided, all I had the strength left to do was stare vacantly into the darkness, holding my still-numbed arm close in a vain attempt to warm it, and wait for dawn to come.

* * *

**_Reposted 12/26/07_**


	15. Chapter 15: Second Chances

**Chapter 15- Second Chances**

Eventually, the darkness gave way to the grey light of morning. As the room grew brighter, Mithríel came in to check on me. She carefully examined both of my arms, looking concerned over the chill that still lingered in my sword-arm, then helped me dress and reset my arm in the sling. Thankfully, she did not comment on my haggard appearance or how quiet I was being, though she did point me towards the basin of water so I could wash my face. "You may break fast downstairs if you wish, my lady," she said. "Master Merry has been inquiring after you."

"Thank you," I said softly, awkwardly trying to gather my hair up with one hand and looking around for something to tie it back with.

"Here, allow me," Mithríel said, motioning for me to sit near the edge of the mattress. She stood behind me, at the foot of the bed, and began braiding my hair. After a moment's silence, she said, "Pardon me for saying so, my lady, but you really should give Lord Faramir another chance."

"What?" I asked, trying to twist my head around to look back at her. How had word of what had passed between us the day before spread so quickly?

"Keep your head still," she admonished. Then she added more softly, "What I mean is, you have both lost a great deal in this war. I am sure that he could use a friend as much…" Her voice trailed off.

"As much as I could?" I finished for her as she tied off the end of the braid.

She released my hair and stood up, having the grace to look slightly embarrassed. "Forgive me," she said. "I am letting my mouth run away with me."

I pushed myself to my feet and turned to face her. "Pardon me for asking," I replied, "but why should you care? I have done nothing but give you grief since I arrived here."

Mithríel hesitated, then began tidying up the room a bit. "It is more for Lord Faramir's sake, my lady," she finally replied bluntly. "My husband risked everything to help save his life; I would not have that sacrifice be in vain."

"Where is your husband now?" I asked.

"With the company that set out for the East," she replied. I fell silent, feeling guilty for prying even as I began to have a little more respect for the healer; at least she had been honest with me. Mithríel shook her head slightly, then said, "Come, my lady." She led me to the hall and directed me to where Merry was waiting. I walked down the stairs and passed the open door of a large room filled with beds, all of which were occupied with wounded men, as well as several more pallets on the floor. Just past that was a tiny sitting area, with windows overlooking the garden. Merry was sitting in a chair near a fireplace made of the same brown stone as the ones in the rooms, a small table with bread and butter sitting in front of him. He looked up and grinned when he saw me.

"Good morning, Éowyn!" he said cheerfully. Then his smile quickly faded into concern. "Are you feeling well? You look terrible!"

I gave him a wry half-smile. "Thank you, Merry."

His face colored a bit. "I didn't mean it that way," he quickly amended.

"I know," I said, sitting down across from him. "I did not sleep very well."

He nodded, and decided to change the subject. "Would you like some breakfast? I can toast this for you, if you'd like."

"Yes, that would be good," I said absently. He nodded, speared a slice of bread on a toasting fork, and proceeded to move it closer to the fire. After a few moments of silence, I asked, "Merry, what do you know about the Lord Faramir?" He gave me a curious look, and I added, "I saw you speaking with him last night."

"Most of what I know is what Pippin and Boromir told me," he admitted, then added by way of explanation, "Boromir is…was…Lord Faramir's brother. He was one of my traveling companions for awhile." Merry fell silent for a moment, a look of grief crossing his face. My eyes widened slightly in realization. I now could remember Boromir speaking of a younger brother now, during his brief stay in Edoras—that was why his name had sounded so familiar. _That was how I recognized him, it must be. He looks like Boromir. That is all,_ I tried to convince myself.

"And Pippin met him before we came here—Gandalf took him away to Minas Tirith before I met you," Merry continued. "Faramir was wounded shortly before the battle, just before the siege started, and Pippin stayed with him for awhile. He was with him when his father died too."

"How did his father die?" I asked, suddenly remembering the conversation between my brother and Prince Imrahil that I had overheard, and wondering if Faramir had been the one of whom they spoke.

Merry shrugged. "Pippin wouldn't talk about it—it must have been awful though, for Pippin to not want to talk about it, and so I didn't want to ask Faramir. He didn't say much about himself anyway; he was much more interested in hearing about…me."

I could not help catching the slight hesitation. "Merry," I asked, looking at him sternly, "was he asking about me?"

Merry looked suddenly nervous, and nearly dropped the bread as he pulled it off the toasting fork. "A little," he finally admitted. "But we weren't talking about you the entire time!" he quickly added, a defensive note coming into his voice.

A short laugh escaped before I could catch it. "It is all right, Merry; I am not angry with you. But you still have not answered my question."

"Oh, right." He looked a bit embarrassed as he buttered the toast and handed it to me. "I know that he's one of Gondor's captains, in…" he paused, thinking, then finished, "Ithilien. I think that's what Pippin called it. He had not spoken with him very often, since he hadn't known him long. And Boromir always seemed reluctant to speak of his family, but I could tell he cared about his brother very deeply." He gave me an apologetic look. "I'm sorry that I cannot tell you any more."

"It is not your fault," I said, nibbling at the toast even though I was not hungry at all. "It is unimportant, anyway."

Merry nodded, obviously unconvinced by my feigned nonchalance, and we fell silent as he finished eating and I picked at my food, only occasionally taking a bite. Merry finally noticed, and asked, "Did I overcook it?"

I set the bread down with a sigh. "No…I am not very hungry. Forgive me, Merry, I am being terrible company today."

"I don't think you are," he said, giving me a half-smile.

"And I think that you are a terrible liar, so I will spare you the trouble of keeping company with me for awhile," I said, forcing a smile as I stood up and turning away quickly so I did not have to see the worry in Merry's eyes.

I decided to go to the gardens, since I had seen through the window that they were completely deserted. I quickly went to the eastern wall and ascended the stairs. A chill still lingered in the air, and I was soon quite grateful that Mithríel had brought my own white dress for me to wear this day. It was much warmer than the Gondorian dress I had worn the previous day. I still wished that I had thought to bring my cloak, but did not wish to return to the Houses to retrieve it, since I had been trapped within for so long.

Although I knew I would see no sign of the army, my gaze was quickly drawn past the field, scarred by the fresh graves that had recently been dug, over to the mountains separating Gondor from the dark lands. I shivered at the thought of my brother being somewhere out there—if he was even still alive. And so many of my people had gone with him, and Aragorn, and Merry's kinsman…

_What is the use?_ I thought, my eyes stinging with tears once again. _It is hopeless._ All my thoughts of doing some great deed had turned out to be worthless, and now Éomer and Aragorn were going to throw their lives away in a battle where there could be no victory.

_At least there is a chance that _your_ brother might return, _I suddenly thought, biting my lip at the reminder and feeling slightly guilty. And again I wondered why Faramir would take any interest in me, especially now that I knew that he had lost much more than I had in this war. _Why am I still thinking about him?_ Feeling rather annoyed with myself, I hastily pushed all thoughts of the Steward aside, though I could not help briefly wishing that Aragorn had expressed a similar desire for my company.

I turned my gaze from the mountains and looked down over the city. From where I stood, I could see the various levels of the city spreading out before me. The signs of the siege were everywhere. Smoke still drifted from the lowest two levels, which had been the most badly damaged by the forces of Mordor. Hardly a building remained that had not been at least partially burned. On the higher levels, I could see rubble where buildings had once stood, as if a giant's fist had smashed them. The outer wall had entirely fallen away in places, though I could still see the tiny moving figures of soldiers who had remained behind patrolling the breaches, guarding against any other possible attack. I briefly wondered if anyone I knew was there; from what I had heard, those of my people who had survived but were too badly wounded to ride to battle again had stayed in the city to boost the defenses. But I had seen no familiar faces in the few days I had been here, save Merry.

My vision blurred slightly as I wished yet again that Éomer had let me go with him. I had never felt so alone before; in Edoras, and even in Dunharrow, there had always been someone around that I had known well enough to speak with, if I had wished. But I hardly knew Merry, and everyone else was gone.

"Lady Éowyn?" I quickly blinked away the tears still filling my eyes, then turned to see Faramir standing near the entrance to the gardens, his arm still in the sling. He was clad in a simple blue tunic and dark breeches, with a green cloak over all. "I apologize if I disturbed you," he added.

"No, you did not," I replied automatically. I almost turned back to look out over the city once more, but hesitated. Perhaps Mithríel was right, and Faramir felt as alone as I did. And, I reasoned, he _had _been much kinder than I had deserved when I had last spoken to him. With my mind made up, I slowly walked down the stairs leading from the wall towards him.

"I wanted to apologize for yesterday, my lord," I said, glancing up at him as my foot left the last step. "I fear that I was terribly rude."

"Do not trouble yourself over it; I have spent enough time here to know how frustrating it can be," he said with a small smile. "The healers are quite skilled, but seem unable to handle restlessness very well."

I tentatively gave him a half-smile, grateful that he did not seem to think ill of me. "Thank you," I said, then looked towards his sling pointedly and added, "And how are you faring, my lord?"

His face grew solemn again. "Well enough," he said, then quickly changed the subject. "May I ask you something?"

I blinked in surprise, then slowly replied, "Yes, but I cannot promise that I will answer."

He nodded, then asked, "Why did you come to Gondor, my lady?"

I studied him carefully. There was no accusation in his voice, but I was still hesitant to speak of it. "Why do you wish to know?"

The faintest hint of a smile crossed his face. "I must admit that I am a little curious, my lady. Never before have I met a woman who would willingly ride into battle."

I could not help sounding a little defensive as I answered, "How could I stay behind when everyone I loved was going off to die? And besides…" I suddenly cut off, not wanting to tell him that I had nothing left to stay behind for.

He did not press the issue, for which I was grateful, though I still found his level gaze rather unnerving. My face flushed slightly again, and to hide my embarrassment, I quickly changed the subject. "I fear that you have me at a disadvantage, my lord. You seem to know much about me, while I know almost nothing of you."

"Very well, my lady," he said, beginning to pace a little. "What do you wish to know?"

I fell into step beside him. "Considering I know nothing about you, save what Merry and Lord Boromir told me, I hardly know where to start." A stricken look crossed his face as he paused in mid-stride, vanishing just as quickly, and I silently groaned at my complete lack of tact. "Forgive me, my lord," I quickly added. "I did not mean to bring up a painful subject."

"No…" He pushed away the dark hair that had fallen into his face, then looked back down at me. "You knew my brother?" he asked. I recognized the look in his eyes, the hunger for any knowledge of his departed brother, any memory that he might cling to, even if it was not his own. It was the same desire that had filled me whenever anyone had spoken of my mother and father, and what I felt now for any news of my brother.

_Perhaps we are not so different after all,_ I mused. "Not well," I said, beginning to walk again. "He passed through Rohan several months ago, and only stayed in Edoras for a night. He spoke very highly of you, though." Faramir looked a little surprised as I continued, "I only talked with him at length once; as the lady of the house, it was my duty to see that his quarters were suitable. The only thing he requested was some parchment and ink--he needed to inform his lord of his safe arrival in Edoras, he said, and he wished to write to his brother as well. I assured him that I would see that the letters were delivered."

Faramir pulled a wrinkled piece of folded parchment out of a small pouch on his belt, carefully unfolding it and smoothing it out. "This is the letter that he sent me; it was the last word that I had from him." A wistful look crossed his face as he quickly scanned the page. "He promised that he would try to write during the remainder of his journey, but that he did not know when he would be able to send any further message." He glanced up at me then, a look of sad gratitude in his eyes. "You said he spoke of me?"

"Only a little. He said that he was seeking an Elf-haven, and that you were much more suited to the task; he almost wished they had sent you instead. He also thought that you would love the opportunity to speak with the Elves, if you were not spending all your time in some dusty old library," I added, then winced as I realized that I had let my tongue run away with me yet again. _With company like me, he _would _be better off alone!_ I thought, wondering how ill he must believe I thought of him.

Faramir looked amused, much to my relief. "He _would _say that," he said with a smile. "Though he was always grateful enough that I knew my way around those 'dusty old libraries' whenever his studies required him to learn anything that could not be taught in the practice yards."

I glanced up at him again, curious. "Do you spend much time reading then, my lord?"

"Not anymore," he answered gravely. "My duty has kept me elsewhere for many years, and time for such pursuits was too costly a luxury."

"Oh." I was not really sure how to answer him, since books were a rarity at Edoras, and most of my people could not have been able to read them regardless. So we walked in silence for awhile, and though I still felt unsure of myself around him, it was not entirely uncomfortable anymore. Finally, I looked back up at him and asked, "How is your arm?"

Faramir glanced down at the sling he still wore. "Ioreth says that it is healing well, and that if I do not overwork it too quickly, I should regain full use of it in due time," he said. "And yours, my lady?"

"It is fine," I said. At least, my broken arm was fine, I added to myself. I did not realize I had spoken the thought aloud until Faramir asked, "Is your other arm also injured?"

"No, my lord," I said quickly, my face reddening as I turned away.

"Lady Éowyn," he said, reaching out as if he were going to stop me. His hand brushed mine for just a moment, then his brow furrowed as he quickly withdrew it.

I just stared at him as he pulled his arm out of the sling, reached up and unclasped his cloak. "What are you doing?" I asked, surprised.

He simply settled the cloak around my shoulders, then pulled the sling back over his arm. "Are you not cold, my lady?" he asked. "Your hand is like ice."

"That is very kind of you, my lord," I said softly as I reached up and pulled my braid out from underneath the cloak, "though I doubt it will help. It has been like that ever since I…since the battle."

"I see." I wondered if perhaps I had told him too much, or if I should return the cloak even though I could not deny that the extra warmth did feel nice. He then added, "I believe that perhaps you still need it more than I at the moment." His eyes were kind, though touched with a hint of pity.

I clenched my hand slightly; I did not want his pity, nor anyone else's. But I forced my voice to stay even as I said, "Thank you, my lord."

"Please, do not address me so," he requested.

"How, then, would you wish me to address you, my lo…I mean…forgive me," I finally finished lamely.

He smiled again. For a moment I thought perhaps he was laughing at me; compared to the ladies of Gondor he was accustomed to, I was certain that I was presenting myself as a complete rustic. But then he said, "My name will suffice, my lady."

I almost smiled at his response. "Then why must you address me so formally?"

An innocent look crossed his face, touched with a bit of humor. "How else should I address you, my lady? You are a daughter of kings, and I merely a simple Steward—not even that yet, officially. And I owe you a great debt on behalf of my people, as your deeds played a great part in saving my city."

My eyes narrowed a bit. "Do you mock me?" I asked indignantly.

The smile faded as he answered, "Nay, my lady, I do not." He gave me another one of those piercing looks that left me both convinced of his complete sincerity and completely unnerved, though I could not think of why it should have such an effect on me.

"Very well, Faramir," I finally said. "But you must call me Éowyn."

"Agreed." He smiled again, a more gentle one this time. He looked as if he was about to say more, but Ioreth entered the garden.

She quickly curtsied before saying, "My lord, my lady, the noon meal is ready."

"Thank you, Ioreth," Faramir said, then turned to me. "Shall we?" I nodded and followed them inside the Houses.

-------

I felt someone shaking my shoulder, and heard a familiar voice saying, "Éowyn, wake up." I opened my eyes, blinking groggily before I was able to focus on the hobbit kneeling in front of me. As I sat up, I realized I had been leaning against the trunk of one of the trees in the garden, with my own cloak wrapped around my shoulders and a thick green cloak draped over me like a blanket. I quickly recognized it as the same one Faramir had lent me that morning.

It took me a moment to realize that I must have fallen asleep. I could remember returning the cloak to Faramir and getting my own before we had returned to the garden after eating, then sitting under the same tree and exchanging a few memories of Éomer and Boromir. I had been surprised at how similar some of our tales were, and we had both laughed over what Faramir had deemed must be common traits of older brothers. But we had fallen silent after a time, and now the shadows were stretched much further over the ground than I remembered. As for Faramir, he was nowhere in sight.

I looked back at Merry again. "How long have I been here?" I asked.

"A few hours, I think. Mithríel sent me to wake you; she said that if you slept much longer you'd never sleep tonight, and anyway, it is time for supper."

"Oh," I said, feeling foolish for having dozed off. "And Lord Faramir—where is he?"

A grin flashed across Merry's face, but disappeared just as quickly. "He did not wish to disturb you, so he is inside visiting some of his men that were wounded." A mischievous twinkle was in his eyes as he added, "Why do you ask?"

I pushed myself to a crouching position with my unbroken arm, then straightened up and began awkwardly trying to fold Faramir's cloak. "I need to return this to him."

"Here, allow me," Merry said, taking the cloak. I could barely contain my laugh as I watched his attempt to fold a piece of material that was nearly twice as long as he was tall.

"Perhaps if we work together, it might go a little smoother," I suggested, and after a few moments, we had it folded somewhat neatly and back in my arms.

"I suppose that was a little easier," Merry admitted, grinning sheepishly. "Will you come into supper then?"

"Yes, I will. Will you be joining me?" I asked.

"I already ate a little while ago, but I do believe I could manage a bite or two more," Merry said.

"And Lord Faramir?" I asked, shifting the cloak so I could hold it pinned between my sling and my body and free up my other arm.

"I believe that he already ate," Merry said. I could not help feeling a little disappointed; his company had been surprisingly pleasant. But I quickly shrugged it off, reasoning that I would find him later. Merry took my arm to lead me inside, much as he had in Dunharrow. He gave me a slightly startled look as his hand rested on my arm, that quickly turned grave.

"What is it, Merry?" I asked.

He looked up at me and simply said, "My arm is still cold too."

_So it is not mere coincidence then._ The thought filled me with a strange combination of nervousness and relief. I looked down, and Merry's brown eyes briefly met mine as we walked inside with the unspoken agreement that neither of us wanted to think about what that could mean. And yet, it was a little comforting to know that someone understood.

-------

After supper, Merry and I parted ways for the evening, after I made him promise that he would come out to the garden the next day. I did not wish for him to sit alone in the Houses either. Then I went in search of Faramir.

I found him in the sitting area where Merry and I had eaten that morning. I watched him for a few moments, unsure how to approach him. He held a well-worn leather-bound book in his hands, but he was only reading half-heartedly at best. Occasionally he would gaze into the fire with a troubled expression on his face, then shake his head as if to clear it or push his dark hair away from his eyes and look at his book again. Finally, I hesitantly knocked on the doorframe.

He looked up and immediately stood to his feet when he saw me, nodding his head politely as he closed his book and set it on the chair. "Good evening, Éowyn," he said, smiling faintly.

"Good evening," I echoed, then looked at the book. "I thought you did not read much."

"No, but I do enjoy it when I have the time," he answered.

"I am sorry if I interrupted you," I said.

"Not at all, my lady," he quickly reassured me. A shadow briefly crossed his face as he added, "I must confess that I am having difficulty concentrating."

"I will leave you in just a moment," I replied, holding out the still-folded cloak. "I just came to return this. And to thank you," I belatedly added. "That was very kind."

"It was no trouble," Faramir said. "As I said, you seemed to need it more."

I nodded, feeling strangely shy around him, then turned to leave. I took two steps, then turned back and asked, "Why are you having trouble concentrating?"

Faramir did not answer for a long moment, then he finally said, "I believe that it is the fire. Ever since the retreat…I keep having these terrible dreams about fire. I know it sounds foolish," he added, his eyes darting up to mine for a moment. "I do not know why it disturbs me so."

"No, that does not sound foolish," I said. "Strange, but not foolish." We stood there in silence for a moment, neither of us knowing what to say next. Finally, I curtsied quickly and said, "I should go."

Faramir nodded, then took my hand and kissed it lightly, bringing the blood rushing back to my face. _What is it about this man that unsettles me so?_ I wondered; I was certain I had blushed more in the last two days than the previous two years of my life. As he released my hand, he said, "Good evening, Éowyn."

"Good evening, Faramir," I said, forcing myself not to look down at my hand. His hand had felt so warm compared to mine, and I could still feel traces of that. _It was a polite gesture. Nothing more,_ I firmly told myself.

This time I had reached the door before he stepped forward and said, almost as an afterthought, "Éowyn?" When I turned to look back at him, he asked, "Will I see you tomorrow?"

A small but genuine smile slowly spread across my face. "You shall," I said, then curtsied once more. "Until tomorrow, then." I had just enough time to catch his smile before leaving.

The traces of a smile still lingered on my face as I climbed the stairs to go to my room. Perhaps I had found a friend in Gondor after all.

* * *

**_Updated 12/26/07_**


	16. Chapter 16: Three is Company

**Chapter 16- Three is Company**

To my surprise, I found myself actually looking forward to seeing Faramir the next morning. I was again looking out over the walls when he entered the gardens, and he quickly climbed the stairs to stand next to me.

"Your arm is better?" I asked, noting his sling was missing this morning.

"'Tis my shoulder that was injured, but yes, it is well, though I had to swear to Ioreth that I would wear the sling again the moment it began to ache." He shook his head with a slight grin, then asked with a pointed look towards my unbound arm, "And how is yours?"

"A little better. Thank you," I said.

We fell into a comfortable silence for a time as I looked down over the city and he looked out across the Pelennor. Neither of us wanted to speak of the shadow in the East, which had seemed to grow darker overnight, so he finally said, "You seem fascinated by the view."

The corner of my mouth twitched in a wry smile. "I am not accustomed to cities this large, nor built in such a fashion. How can you avoid getting lost? All the buildings look the same!"

Faramir laughed, and my face colored yet again as I silently cursed my inability to think before speaking. He must have noticed my discomfort, because he quickly reassured me, "It can be quite difficult for a stranger to the city. Occasionally it is even a challenge for those who have spent their entire lives here," he added.

I did smile a little this time. "You speak as if you know this from experience."

He looked down at me with a rueful smile. "Alas, I lost my way quite frequently as a child, though usually from a lack of attention on my part," he confessed.

I smiled a little, looking down upon the city again. "It all still seems so strange to me, but I have never been to Gondor before. Tell me of your land, Faramir," I asked, then listened silently as he began pointing out various locations in the city and the surrounding areas. As he spoke, I could clearly see his love for his homeland on his face, especially as he spoke of the lands of Ithilien beyond the Anduin. As he described the land of thick forests and waterfalls that he had been stationed in, his grey-blue eyes sparkled like the faint sunlight on the river in the distance.

"You describe it beautifully," I said softly. I could almost see the sunlight filtering through the leaves in the forest, so vivid were his descriptions. "It sounds like a lovely place."

"It is," he said, a far-off look on his face. He shook his head slightly, then requested, "Would you tell me of your home, Éowyn?"

"You have never been there?" I asked.

"I traveled through your lands once, with my brother, but it was long ago." He did not elaborate any further on it, so I tried to describe Edoras and the mountains and plains that surrounded my home. Although I could not depict it as eloquently as he could, he seemed genuinely interested in what I had to say, and I was grateful for his questions since they helped me to know what to speak of.

The sun had nearly reached its peak, though its light was still filtered through a thin layer of cloud, when Ioreth walked out, carrying a tray of food and with Merry close behind her. "I thought perhaps you would wish to eat the noon-meal out here," she explained after we left the walls.

"I hope that you don't mind if I join you," Merry added.

"Not at all," Faramir said, smiling kindly at the hobbit. "We would be honored to have your company."

I nodded my agreement, adding, "I would not have asked you to come if I thought otherwise." Merry smiled gratefully as Ioreth set the food down on a nearby bench, bowed and exited.

Faramir spread his cloak out on the ground, and I sat upon the edge of it as Merry began to divide up the bread, cold roasted meat and hard cheese that we had been given. Faramir stood a moment longer, silently looking westward. I glanced over at Merry, who shrugged. When he finally sat down, Faramir noticed our confused looks and explained, "It is custom in these lands, before a meal. We look towards Númenor that was, to Elvenhome that is, and to that which is beyond Elvenhome and will ever be."

I nodded silently, once more feeling rather uncouth in his presence. Merry and Faramir began taking their food, and I pushed aside my awkwardness and picked up a crusty piece of bread. A screeching cry overhead startled me, and I dropped it as I looked up, half-expecting to see one of the winged beasts from the battle. Merry looked nervous too. "What's that?" he asked, looking around wildly.

"It is a gull—a seabird," Faramir said, barely glancing up. "They come to Minas Tirith often during the colder months, or they follow the ships that sometimes come up the Anduin. See?" He pointed towards the sky, where several white birds soared overhead. I let out a breath I had not even known I was holding. He then picked up the bread, which had fallen back onto the cloak, and handed it back to me. "You have never heard them?" he asked.

"We have no gulls in Rohan," I said softly, embarrassed at being frightened by a mere bird.

"I have never seen the sea," Merry added, looking rather embarrassed himself. "Until several months ago, I had never even left the Shire."

"That reminds me; you still owe me an explanation, Merry," I said, glad to change the subject.

"I do?" he asked.

"You never did tell me how you came to Dunharrow."

His eyes lit up as he remembered. "You really want to hear it? I know you heard a good deal of the story already, my lord," he added apologetically, nodding to Faramir.

"Your tale was told rather quickly, and I am certain that there is much I have not yet heard," Faramir said before gently reminding him, "And there is no need for you to address me so formally."

Merry grinned sheepishly, then started, "All right. It all started with Bilbo Baggins's birthday party…" The Halfling turned out to be a natural storyteller, and I was soon so absorbed in his story that I had to remind myself to occasionally take a bite. If I had not seen so many strange things in the last few weeks, I would have thought he was making a good deal of it up. He told of being chased to Bree by the same Black Riders that we had faced on the Pelennor, then having to face them again at a place he called Weathertop. I could not help shuddering at the thought, and Faramir's jaw tensed slightly as if thinking on them disturbed him too.

As Merry continued, Faramir began asking him questions about the places he mentioned, such as Rivendell and Moria. I was impressed at his knowledge of places that were no more than passing legends to my people. The names became more familiar to me as he spoke of Lothlórien and the Anduin. He seemed a little reluctant to continue after this, glancing over at Faramir uncertainly. As Faramir pressed him for details, I quickly saw why, as Merry told of his last minutes with Boromir. Though the anguish in the man's eyes was plain to see, he insisted on hearing everything. When Merry finished, I looked up at Faramir questioningly. "I am fine," he said quietly, though I could see that his expression was carefully controlled. "Please continue, Merry."

After a moment's hesitation, he continued and spoke of his and Pippin's capture by the Uruk-hai. I quickly realized that the Riders who had attacked the raiding party in the night were none other than my brother and his men; Merry had not known this, and smiled grimly as he said that he would have to remember to thank Éomer later for enabling his and Pippin's escape. Then he told of their journey into Fangorn Forest, meeting the Ents and the later attack on Isengard, and it was my turn to ask questions about the places and creatures that I had heard so many stories about when I was a child.

I could not help smiling, in spite of the all-too-familiar lump in my throat, as Merry told me of his first impressions of my uncle when they first met at Isengard. Then he told of their encounter with Saruman. I had heard little of the tale from Éomer and Théoden, so I listened intently, until Merry mentioned in passing that a man who called himself Gríma had come to the tower, then about some object he called a palantír being tossed out of the window, presumably by the same person.

I froze, my hand unconsciously clenching around the fabric of my skirt until my knuckles whitened. Faramir's thoughtful look grew more anxious as he noticed. "Éowyn?" he asked quietly. "Are you well?"

"I…I am fine," I stammered, forcing a smile and deliberately smoothing my skirt back out. "Truly, I am."

Faramir gave me a skeptical look, but thankfully did not press the issue as Merry continued to tell about how Pippin had looked into the palantír, then had been taken to Minas Tirith. Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli, along with the Rangers, had chosen to leave for Dunharrow early, as I already knew, and he had been left with the Rohirrim. "And your uncle graciously allowed me to ride with them," he said to me, "and we came to Dunharrow. And, well, you know what happened after that, Éowyn."

I gave Merry a grateful look, as I was yet unwilling to speak of the battle. Merry nodded slightly, indicating he understood perfectly. Faramir glanced at me, then Merry. "That is a remarkable tale, Merry," he finally said.

Merry shrugged. "Perhaps. I suppose my part in this tale is over now," he said sadly. I could see the shame in his eyes at being left behind while all his friends had gone to war.

"Perhaps," Faramir said. "But that does not lessen the honor you have already earned."

Merry glanced up and tentatively smiled at Faramir. "Do you really think so?" Faramir nodded, and Merry quickly brightened up as he jumped to his feet. "I'm going to take this inside and see if there is anything else to eat lying around; tale-telling is hungry work." I could not help smiling as he picked up the tray; it seemed that more often than not, food was the foremost thing on Merry's mind. As he turned to go, Merry looked at Faramir one more time and said solemnly, "I can see why Pippin spoke so highly of you."

Faramir seemed slightly embarrassed by the compliment as he pushed away the dark hair that had fallen into his eyes, but he met Merry's gaze steadily. "Thank you, Merry," he said softly. Merry nodded, then went inside.

Neither Faramir nor I spoke for a moment. Finally, I said, "He is quite remarkable, is he not? To endure a journey such as that, and still have such a resilient spirit."

"Remarkable, perhaps, though it appears to be a peculiarity common to the Halflings," Faramir said thoughtfully, brushing off his green tunic. Then he stood up and extended a hand to me. I only hesitated for an instant before placing my hand in his and allowing him to help me to my feet. "That, and an unusual fondness for frequent meals," he added with a slight grin.

I burst out laughing. "If he leaves a bite to eat in all of Minas Tirith before the week is out, I will be surprised." Faramir smiled at that. "Tell me, Faramir, what other peculiarities are common to the Halflings?"

"I do not think that I would be the best judge of such matters, my lady," he said. "Merry is only the fourth hobbit to cross my path."

"You have met the other two he spoke of then, Frodo and Sam?" I asked, surprised.

"While I was patrolling Ithilien, not too long ago." A shadow fell over his face.

"What happened?" I asked quietly. Faramir looked over at me, and I quickly added, "I did not mean to pry. If you do not wish to speak of it…"

"No, I…" he interrupted. "I hope I made the right decision. I wonder sometimes," he finally added, glancing up towards the innermost circle of the city, where the Citadel towered above us. I remained silent, and he finally continued, "I let them go. The Enemy's weapon within my grasp, and I let them go. I cannot help but wonder if the cost of my choice will be a weight too heavy for my people to bear."

We were standing on the walls again by now, and I watched Faramir's face as he gazed out over the walls, his jaw clenched slightly. I could almost see the weight of responsibility on him as his shoulders slumped a little, and wondered what trials he had been made to endure that led him to this end. And for the first time, I realized that he was stronger than I had originally thought, though in a different way than I was accustomed to seeing among the men of my own people. "If you had to do it again," I asked hesitantly, "would you still make the same choice?"

Faramir did not answer for awhile, never looking away from the shadow in the East. The corners of his mouth pulled back in a humorless smile. "I have asked myself that same question countless times since then, wondering how things might have been gone had I chosen differently. Every time I come to the same conclusion: that had I done otherwise, Gondor's destruction would be certain. I know it sounds like madness, or folly. Perhaps both. My father certainly thought so." He hesitated, closing his eyes in pain for a moment, then added, "Perhaps he was right, but my heart still tells me I made the right choice. At least this way, there is still hope."

As I looked towards the mountains to the East, I could feel the malice in the darkness shrouding them as clearly as if the Nazgûl was standing before me once more. "Tell me, Faramir," I asked, clenching and unclenching my numbed fingers to try to bring some kind of feeling back to them, "what hope do you see?"

Faramir looked at me steadily until I finally returned his gaze. His eyes softened as he motioned to the battle-scarred field stretching before the city. "We both sought death on that field, and yet we still live. Can you not see any hope in that?"

I turned away, staring out over the field. "The only hope remaining to me was to find an honorable death. That hope was lost when I was brought here," I said softly.

"Éowyn…" Faramir said.

I interrupted him with a shake of my head, whispering, "Please, do not make me talk about it." He nodded, pressing his lips into a thin line, and rested his hands on the parapet.

The silence soon grew heavy and awkward, and I soon began to miss the easy camaraderie that had started to form between us. Finally, I was unable to bear it anymore "Faramir," I began at the same time that he said, "Éowyn…" He paused, then nodded for me to speak first. "Forgive me. I should not have said those things," I said, fumbling for words before they began tumbling out. "I…it is…everything that happened since I left Rohan has gone so horribly wrong. I failed my uncle, and I am certain that Éomer thinks I am no less than a traitor, and…" I closed my eyes, fighting back the tears that were becoming all-too familiar now, and turned away, letting my hair fall over my face. I did not want him to see me like this. "Forgive me," I said again. "I…" I could say no more, as I choked back a sob.

"Éowyn," Faramir said gently. "Éowyn, look at me. Please." I finally looked up, and though his face was blurred through my tears, I could still see those grey-blue eyes looking at me intently. "There is nothing to forgive, Éowyn. There is no shame or weakness in grieving for the loss of those you love. And I cannot believe that your brother thinks ill of you, either," he softly added.

I turned away from him and closed my eyes again. A moment later, I could feel his hand on my cheek, brushing away the tears that had managed to escape. Instantly my mind took me back to Théodred's graveside, and Gríma's cold hand on my cheek. I stiffened as my eyes flew open, then swatted his hand away, crying, "Do not touch me!"

Faramir jerked his hand back as if he had been burned, and I immediately wished I could take the words back. "I am sorry," he said, eyes widening. "I should not have been so forward."

"It…it is not you…I…excuse me," I stammered, unable to bring myself to look at him as I quickly whirled around and ran down the stairs leading up to the walls.

I rushed past a startled Merry, who had just re-entered the gardens. I barely registered his cry of "What happened?" and Faramir's bewildered reply that he did not know, then I was inside the Houses. I went to my room as fast as I could, yanked the door open and ran inside. Then I pushed the door shut and dropped heavily onto the bed, breathing hard and shaking.

_What is _wrong_ with me?_ I shook my head at myself in disgust as I fumbled with the clasp to the brooch holding my cloak closed. _Wormtongue cannot find me here. And Faramir is nothing like him._ The thought briefly crossed my mind that perhaps I would not have shied away had it been Aragorn instead of Faramir. But as I pulled the brooch free of my cloak, I wondered if I _could_ have reacted any differently. I allowed the silver horsehead to sit in my palm, absently rubbing the smooth metal with my thumb, thinking that I must be going mad, and wishing more than anything that Faramir had not seen how weak I had become.

A knock on the door caused me to jerk my head up. I quickly scrubbed at my tear-stained cheeks with the back of my hand, then called out, "What is it?"

"Éowyn?" I heard Faramir say quietly, then Merry added, "May we come in?"

I sat there for a moment in silence, then answered, "Come in." At least Merry had come as well; I did not think I could face Faramir alone after my outburst.

The door opened, and Merry entered, his anxiety written all over his face as he climbed up next to me on the edge of the bed. Faramir followed, and while his expression was calmer than Merry's, the concern in his eyes was no less deep. He sat down on the wooden chair across from me, then said, "If I offended you or caused you grief, my lady, I truly am sorry. It was not my intent at all to hurt you."

"I know." I suddenly realized how sharply the edges of the brooch were digging into my palm, but it still took a conscious effort to relax my hand.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Merry asked. I shook my head. I could not talk about it. Not yet. The hobbit glanced down, then exclaimed, "You're bleeding!"

"What?" I looked down at my hand; sure enough, a little red was now visible on the edges of the brooch. "It's nothing," I quickly said.

"May I?" Faramir asked. I hesitated, then nodded, opening my hand a little more. He took my hand in his, then wordlessly picked up the brooch and handed it to Merry. "Merry, could you look for some cloth or a bandage?" he asked, not looking up from my hand.

"They are in the drawer in the table with the pitcher, I think," I answered. He glanced up at me, then pulled the drawer open. He released my hand long enough to tear off a wide strip of bandage cloth, then briefly soaked the cloth in the basin and began gently cleaning the blood off. "The cuts are not deep at all; they should stop bleeding soon," he said, holding my hand between his and pressing the cloth over my palm to speed up the process.

I glanced up, briefly meeting his gaze. For just a moment, the look in his eyes made me catch my breath—strength mixed with gentleness, and there was something else that I could not quite put my finger on. But just as quickly, it was gone, and I decided it had been nothing more than my imagination.

"This looks like the brooch the Riders wore," Merry said, turning over the pin in his hands.

"It is," I said, grateful for the distraction. "My uncle gave it to me just before we left Edoras." The tears pricked my eyes again, and I looked down at my hand, still in Faramir's, and whispered, "I miss him so much."

"So do I," Merry said softly. "I wish I had known him longer."

"I wish I could have actually done something to help him." I closed my eyes and took a ragged breath; I was _not _going to start weeping like a child again.

"You did more than anyone else could have," Faramir said softly. I opened my eyes and looked up at him, wondering what he meant. "And I am certain that he would not blame you for what happened, Éowyn."

"That does not make it any easier," I murmured.

"I know." My eyes met Faramir's again, and I could see that he truly did understand. He broke the gaze first this time, looking down at my hand again and pulling off the cloth. All I could see were a few faint reddish marks where the brooch had dug into my skin. He added, "I do not think that it will start bleeding again."

"Thank you," I said softly. He nodded and released my hand, a silent question in his eyes. I nodded to tell him that I held no grudge against him for what had happened on the wall, and he visibly relaxed.

Merry handed the brooch back to me. "Will you be staying in here then?" he asked.

"No," I said, offering him a faint smile. "I think that I would quickly grow bored without your tales to entertain me, Merry." The hobbit grinned and slid off the bed, and I followed him to the door. "Faramir, are you coming?" I asked, looking back.

"Of course," he answered, pushing the chair back slightly as he stood and followed us out of the room.

-------

I spent the remainder of the afternoon in the garden with Merry, listening to his often-amusing stories of life in the Shire. One of the lords of the city, who introduced himself to Merry and I as Húrin, came to see Faramir shortly after we had returned to the gardens in order to discuss the affairs of the city and the surrounding countryside; apparently he was governing Minas Tirith while Faramir was recovering. Faramir rejoined us just in time for supper, but had been rather quiet since his return. After supper, Merry had opted to stay inside by the fire, but I was still feeling too restless to spend the remainder of the evening sitting, so Faramir and I were walking on the walls once more, watching twilight fall over the city.

He seemed troubled; his eyes had taken on a far-away look, and he kept brushing his raven locks away from his face in what I was quickly coming to recognize as a nervous gesture. Hoping to draw him out of his silence, but uncertain how to proceed, I decided to pick a neutral topic and asked, "What is the sea like, Faramir?"

Faramir paused, looking out over the fields as if deep in thought. Finally, he answered, "Have you ever seen a river on a windy day? The way the wind disturbs the surface?" I nodded. "It is similar to that, only the water stretches as far as your eye can see. And the colors are constantly shifting; sometimes it is as grey as storm clouds, and often when the sun shines, it is all ever-changing shades of blue and green and silver. If the sun is rising or setting, the water looks as if it were made of gold; I think that is my favorite time to watch it," he said with a small smile.

"It sounds lovely," I answered. "Have you been there often?"

"When I was a boy, Boromir and I would often spend our summers with our mother's kin in Dol Amroth. It has been years since I have been allowed the time to visit there, but I would like the opportunity to see it once more." He rested his hands on the parapet and looked out towards the east, a faraway look on his face. "The first time I ever truly saw the sunrise was on one of those visits. Boromir woke me up before the dawn—I think I was about six years old at the time—and insisted that he wanted to show me something. So he brought me down to the dunes on the eastern side of the city, and then he sat down. I asked him what we were looking for, and he told me to wait." Faramir smiled wryly. "I must have fallen asleep, because the next thing I remember is Boromir shaking me and telling me that it was time. When I opened my eyes, I could see the sun just starting to come over the horizon and reflecting off the water. I had never seen anything like it."

I looked at him, surprised, and he said, "The mountains in the East have been shrouded in shadow since long before my birth. It has grown darker in recent years, but it was always there, dimming the sunrise. We could never clearly see the sun until it rose past the peaks of the mountains, and even then it turned the sky blood-red until it had risen past the ash and smoke. I will never forget what Boromir said to me that morning; he said that someday, we would be able to look out from our city and see the sunrise just as clearly. I have always hoped he was right, but now…" he dropped his head a little.

I wanted to say something, to reassure him, but how could I offer him hope when I had none myself? I was spared from having to answer when a child's voice called out, "Lord Faramir?"

Faramir turned towards the Houses; I followed his gaze to where a dark-haired boy stood, clutching a cloth-wrapped bundle to his chest. "Good evening, Bergil," Faramir said with a faint smile.

"I have your things that you asked to have brought here, my lord," the boy said politely as Faramir left the wall and I followed. I then recognized him as the same boy who had been with Merry the day that Éomer left.

"Thank you," Faramir said, taking the bundle. "And give your mother my thanks as well."

"I will, my lord," Bergil said with a bow. Then he looked over at me and asked, "Did you really kill a Nazgûl?"

"Bergil!" Faramir exclaimed, shooting me an apologetic look.

"I…um…" My face reddened. "Merry helped," I finally blurted out.

Bergil looked slightly awed as he smiled at me. "I think you're the bravest girl ever." My face reddened even further as Faramir tried rather unsuccessfully to hide a grin.

I was spared any further embarrassment as the silhouette of a woman appeared in the doorway and called out, "Bergil, come inside. It is getting late."

"Mother, can I please stay out here a little longer? He tells the best stories!" Bergil protested.

"I am sure that the Lord Faramir has much to do, Bergil," she said. I recognized the voice now as Mithríel's, to my surprise. I had not known she had a son, especially one who had remained in the city; Faramir had told me that most of the women and children had left before the siege began.

"Let us make an arrangement, Bergil," Faramir said, kneeling down before the boy and lowering his voice so that only the three of us could hear. "Do what your mother says now, and if you come back tomorrow, I will tell you any story you wish to hear."

"Really?" Bergil's face lit up. "Even one about the Rangers?"

"Especially one about that." Faramir smiled, and I could not help smiling myself as Bergil grinned widely, bowed and called out a good-night before running back to the house.

"You are good with the boy," I said. He would make a good father someday. My face colored yet again at the thought, but Faramir did not seem to notice. His smile faded, and his eyes took on the faraway look again. "What did he bring you?" I asked, gesturing towards the bundle, hoping to take his mind off of whatever was troubling him.

"A few things from home, mostly books and such," Faramir said absently, brushing his raven-colored hair away from his eyes.

I decided to change the subject as we went inside. "Your mother's kin is from Dol Amroth? Where Prince Imrahil is from?"

"Yes; he is my mother's brother. You have met him, then?"

"A few days ago, yes. He was with my brother." I eyed Faramir suspiciously; he seemed rather distracted. "Are you well?"

"Yes, I am fine—I just remembered that I have some things I need to take care of tonight," he said.

"I will take my leave then; I would not wish to hinder you. Good night," I replied, then added, "And thank you; I know I have not been the best of company. I do not know how you have managed to be so patient with me."

"I have enjoyed your company these last two days," he said, then paused and added, "I wish I could help you, Éowyn."

"I know, my friend." _I wish you could too, Faramir,_ I could not help thinking as I left.

* * *

**_A/N: Only a couple tiny changes to the dialogue in these last few chapters, mostly things like removing contractions. (I left them for Merry, since the hobbits do use them in the books, and for Bergil since he's still a child and wouldn't necessarily use the more formal speech that the adults do all the time.)_**

**_Updated 12/26/07_**


	17. Chapter 17: Shadows of the Past

**_Chapter 17- Shadows of the Past_**

I could not sleep that night. Merry's news that Gríma was still near Rohan had shaken me more than I cared to admit, and every time I closed my eyes, I could almost feel his gaze following me again. Though I kept telling myself that he could not find me here, it was much more difficult to believe alone in the dark. And I was cold. The chill that had been in the air when I was in the garden that evening seemed to have seeped into my very core, and though I had wrapped my cloak around myself and painstakingly piled all the blankets in the room on the bed, it did little to warm me. I could not help being furious with myself for being so weak. _As fragile as a lily touched by frost, he said. Perhaps Wormtongue was right about me after all,_ I thought in despair.

I rolled onto my back and stared up towards the ceiling, though I could hardly see a thing. A slight glimpse of the fireplace revealed that the embers had nearly burned out completely, and the thought crossed my mind that if I could revive the fire, I might warm up. So I pushed the blankets off, shivering as my feet hit the cold stone floor. After a little fumbling in the dark, I found the heavy iron poker that had been left to tend the fire, and began to prod at the charred firewood as I held my cloak tightly around myself. It did not seem to have any effect, so I picked up a small bellows that had been lying next to the poker. It soon became obvious to me that my shield-arm lacked the strength to allow me to work it with both hands, and resting it on the floor and pumping it with my unbroken arm did little to help; the only effect was to scatter the ashes. _I cannot _wait_ to have the use of both my arms again,_ I thought crossly as I stood up again, rubbing irritably at the bandages they had wrapped around my hand to keep the splint in place.

There was a fireplace in the small sitting-room, I remembered; the room was not a great deal larger than mine, and I was almost certain that the fire would have been left burning late. Perhaps that room was warmer. With this thought in mind, I struggled into one of the dresses that Mithríel had brought in for me that day; I knew that several of the wounded soldiers were in the rooms downstairs, and I had no wish to possibly be caught by one of them while walking around in the thin nightdress that the healers had given me to wear. Without the sling, I was able to maneuver my left arm with a little more ease, though the time of disuse combined with the motions of pulling the lacing in the back of the dress tight enough soon caused my arm to ache. I gritted my teeth and forced myself to pin my cloak about my neck, but my hands rebelled completely when I tried to pull on my boots—my broken arm burned in pain and lacked the strength to hold on to the shoe, while my other hand was completely numbed from the unnatural chill that refused to relinquish its hold on me. I kicked one of the boots across the floor in frustration, then decided that I would just pull my skirt over my feet to keep them warm if I stayed down there. With that, I quietly opened the door, then padded down the hall. The stone floors felt icy to my bare feet, and I could not help wondering how Merry could stand walking around like that all the time.

I crept past the rooms with all the beds where most of the Houses' patients were staying, running my hand along the wall to help keep me from missing the entrance. I soon felt the smooth wood of a doorframe, with the door slightly ajar, and I glanced into the near-darkened room. The faint glow by the hearth drew me to the fireplace as I entered, and I quietly picked up the poker to see if stirring the embers would coax the dying flames to burn brighter. I had much more success than I had in my own room, and I knelt by the fireplace, trying to warm myself as I continued to work at the fire.

I was startled to hear the sound of the door opening a little more. "Éowyn?" a familiar voice said from behind me. Reflex took over, and I tightened my grip on the poker and jumped up, ready to defend myself if necessary. After I whirled around to face whoever was behind me, I nearly dropped the iron bar in surprise.

"Faramir?" I asked as I lowered my arm. "What are you doing here?" The question came out harsher than I intended, but he just glanced up at me for a moment, then looked away. Even in the dim light, I could see that he looked pale, his expression a terrible mixture of shock, grief and bitterness. I was surprised to see the faint sheen of moisture on his cheeks, as if he had been weeping. "Forgive me," I finally said, drawing the cloak closer around myself. "I was startled; I did not expect to find anyone here at this hour."

"Nor did I," he said flatly.

"Is something wrong? You look unwell," I said.

He looked down silently for a long moment, then finally said, "I apologize if I disturbed you, my lady," and turned and left.

"Faramir, wait," I called out, moving towards the door, but when I looked out in the hall, he had already vanished into the shadows. I stared down the darkened hall for a minute, but since I had no idea what direction he had taken, I turned and went back into the sitting room.

It took some effort since I had the use of only one arm, but I was able to shove one of the larger, cushioned chairs closer to the fire, and I wearily sat down, curling my legs up to cover them with my skirt and letting the fire warm me as I tried to sort out my bewildered thoughts. I knew that Faramir was obviously deeply troubled about something, but I could not force him to talk about it, especially since I had been so reticent in sharing my own troubles with him. Still, I had this nagging feeling that I should have done something Nothing came to mind, however, so I finally pulled my cloak closer and let my eyes drift shut as I gazed into the flames.

-------

I ran my hand over the worn but familiar carvings that adorned the wooden columns running the length of the main hall in Meduseld, feeling reluctant to take my usual place by the throne. That feeling of reluctance had been growing steadily as of late. But my uncle needed me, and I could not abandon my duty because of my own misgivings; I knew that I needed to be strong, for his sake. So I took a deep breath and walked towards the throne with my head lifted high, almost defiantly.

"Good morning, Uncle," I said, sounding more cheerful than I truly was. He lifted his head for a moment, and I felt the all-too-familiar knot in my stomach twist as I saw how distant his gaze seemed to be, and how much older he seemed to have become overnight.

"Éowyn," he murmured, almost inaudibly.

"Yes, my lord, I am here," I said, taking his hand, grateful that for once, Wormtongue was nowhere in sight. "I am going to help you." He dropped his head again and did not reply.

"And what makes you think you can?" a mocking voice behind me said. I clenched my jaw as I turned. "Your uncle is weary. He is growing old, Éowyn; his illness saps his strength more each day. I know that this is hard for you to accept, but you must."

"I will not," I said, letting go of my uncle's hand and straightening up. "I will not give up hope that he will recover."

"But you are too late," Wormtongue said with a leering grin. "Do you not remember? He is already dead."

I looked back at the throne to find it was empty, the hall behind me falling into shadow. A sick feeling settled in my stomach, along with the all-too-familiar numbness in my arm. "When Éomer returns to take the throne, you will regret the day you ever set foot in this hall, Gríma," I said defiantly.

Wormtongue laughed. "And what can your brother do? You know that he will not return either."

"He might," I protested. _He has to._ "Why are you still here? Can you truly find nothing better to do with your time than to torment me?"

He stepped closer, and I stepped back, surprised to feel a wall behind me. "I could never leave you, my dear Éowyn," he said, reaching out and running his hand down my cheek. I tried to reach out and push his hand away, only to find that I could not lift my arm; it felt cold and leaden. So I tried to move away from him, but I may as well have been frozen in place. His hand moved down my neck, lingering for a moment on the thin scar that his dagger had left, then down to my collarbone. "You know that you will never be rid of me."

My breath was coming quicker now as I began to panic. I felt as if iron bands were holding me in place, and the more I struggled to get away, the tighter they held me. "Éowyn," he said again, reaching out with his other hand and gripping my arm tightly.

"Get away from me, Wormtongue," I cried desperately, struggling even more wildly as I shut my eyes to block his leering face from my vision.

"Éowyn!" His voice was changing now, and I could feel him shaking me lightly. "Éowyn, wake up! It's me, Merry."

My body jerked forward as my eyes flew open to see the hobbit standing beside the chair, shaking my arm. The flickering firelight illumined the welcome sight of the sitting room and cast rich golden highlights in Merry's curls. _It was only a dream. He is gone,_ I frantically reminded myself. "Merry," I gasped, trying to catch my breath. "What are you doing here?"

"I was hungry, and decided to go to the kitchen to see if I could find something to eat, and I saw that the door was open here. I heard you crying out, and I came to see what was wrong." He looked at me steadily, his eyes filled with concern. "You kept shouting at someone named Wormtongue. What did he do to you?"

I closed my eyes again and let myself slump back against the chair. For a moment, I struggled with whether to tell him; I had kept my silence for so long that I did not even know how to begin. "You must swear to me that you will tell no one," I finally said slowly.

"I promise," Merry said solemnly. "Not a word."

I regarded him for a moment, still wondering whether I should confide in him. But I thought I could trust Merry. And Gríma was gone, I reminded myself again. I no longer needed to stand between him and my family. I took a deep breath, then slid off the chair to sit on the floor in front of the hearth. Merry sat down next to me. "You have met him before, at Isengard. His true name is Gríma, but we called him Wormtongue because his words poisoned my uncle's mind and thus nearly handed my country over to Saruman's keeping. He turned my uncle into a dotard before his time and imprisoned my brother. And he… he attacked me…once. I was able to escape before anything happened, but…"

Merry's eyes lit up in sudden understanding. "Then this afternoon, when you got upset… oh, Éowyn, I'm sorry! I would not have mentioned it if I had known…"

"There was no way you could have known," I said softly.

"If it helps, I don't think he will ever be able to go anywhere near Rohan again. He's too afraid to even think about leaving Isengard, though I'm not sure if he's more frightened of the Ents or of the wizard," Merry said with a shaky grin.

I laughed in spite of myself, though it sounded halfway between a laugh and a sob, feeling strangely better now that I had finally told someone. "Thank you, Merry." I paused, then added, "And please, tell no one of this. Not even Faramir." A frown crossed my face again as I thought of the man of Gondor. Had I somehow offended him when he found me here earlier? Or was it something else?

"I won't," he said again. "Do you wish me to leave you here to rest again?"

"No," I said firmly. Weakness or not, I would not take the chance of falling back into those dreams again. "You were going to the kitchens, were you not?" Merry nodded. "You may need some help to reach some of those higher shelves."

The Halfling grinned widely. "Just because you're taller than me…" I laughed again, a more genuine one this time, then stood up and followed him to the kitchens.

We quickly found some bread and preserves, then sat down at a rough-hewn wooden table and began talking. Merry seemed to have determined to drive all thoughts of my earlier nightmares out of my head as he ate, and told me story after story of pranks he and his cousins, especially Pippin, had pulled when they were younger. My heart was slowly lightened from hearing his tales, and by the time Ioreth found us in the kitchen, I was laughing almost as heartily as the hobbit.

Merry spotted her first, letting his bright smile fade to an innocent grin. I looked back too, and was surprised to see that the darkened sky had faded to a grey morning light. "Good morning, my lady," he said cheerfully.

Ioreth shook her head at us. "It is a little early for you two to be up, is it not?"

Merry shrugged. "I was hungry."

The healer then turned to me. "What is your excuse? And how did you get dressed, my lady? You should not be using that arm!" Ioreth gave me a stern look, though the effect was weakened by the amusement on her face from Merry's reply.

"I thought that perhaps the sitting room might be warmer than my room," I said truthfully.

She shook her head. "Let me see your arm," she ordered. I did not feel like arguing for once, and held out my bandaged arm obediently. She ran her hands down the length of my arm. "It seems to be all right," she said. "Do you feel any pain?"

"It is merely a little stiff. But I was cold," I said.

"And no wonder, walking around here barefoot like that," Ioreth admonished. "Meaning no offense to you, of course," she added to Merry. She felt my forehead, apparently to see if I was feverish, then took my unbandaged hand. As she did, her eyes widened slightly. "This is strange," she said.

"What?" Merry asked curiously.

"Your arm is still cold! In all my years, I have never seen anything like this," she exclaimed, then turned to Merry. "And you, Meriadoc, what of your arm?"

"It is still a little cold, but…" he cut off as she took his hand too, then shook her head.

"I suppose you will still want breakfast," Ioreth said with a pointed look at Merry, "but afterwards I want to see both of you upstairs to see if we can do something to help." I looked at Merry, who shrugged as Ioreth left the room, muttering about needing to find some herb that I had never heard of.

Breakfast was a quiet affair. One of the kitchen staff cooked sausages for us. Merry toasted some more bread, and we stayed in the kitchen to eat. As we walked up the stairs afterwards, Merry whispered, "What do you think Ioreth will do to us, anyway?"

"I have no idea," I answered, just as she appeared in the hall and waved us into my room.

"I took the liberty of using your room, my lady," Ioreth said as she motioned for us both to sit down. The basin had been filled with steaming water, and a young woman with dark brown hair and grey-green eyes, whom I did not recognize, dropped a few crushed leaves atop the water. "Merry, roll your shirt sleeve up. Aredhel, help Lady Éowyn with hers, and help her to put her stockings and shoes on."

As Aredhel rolled the sleeve of my dress up until most of my right arm was exposed, I looked over at the water basin curiously. The herbs she had dropped in there gave off a strangely familiar aroma, reminding me of the crisp air in the mountains of my homeland. "Ioreth, what did you put in the water?" I asked as Aredhel tugged my well-worn boots onto my feet and pulled the laces tight.

"The plant is called athelas, my lady—kingsfoil in the common tongue. It seemed to help your arm before, after the battle. Though I daresay I would never have guessed it to be such a powerful healing herb, had not the Lord Aragorn instructed us to use it," she chattered.

I felt a pang at the mention of Aragorn, but did not answer. Instead, I focused my attention on what the healers were doing with the herb-infused water. Though I knew some of the basics of healing from years of binding up soldier's wounds, the herb-lore of the Gondorians was altogether new to me, and I could not help being a little fascinated with their methods. Aredhel took a clean cloth and soaked it in the still-steaming water, then carefully squeezed out most of the excess and began to bathe my arm with it. The warmth of the water on my cold skin soaked in gently, like the warmth of sunlight, and the cold, dull ache in my arm abated somewhat; the surprised look on Merry's face indicated that the herb was having a similar effect on him. I flexed my fingers gingerly in wonder that they did not feel as stiff as they had.

"Is your arm feeling better, my lady?" Aredhel asked shyly.

"It is," I said, giving her a small smile. "Thank you."

"Yes, thank you," Merry echoed, looking at Ioreth.

"Very good," the older woman said, beaming. "I have sent Mithríel's boy in search of some more of the herb. Now, Aredhel, if you could help me take this downstairs…" she waved a hand towards the water basin. "I would like to see if the herb will aid some of the wounded men as well; we must not let this go to waste. I will send someone to check on you two later," she said as she left the room, Aredhel following slowly so as not to spill the water.

I turned to Merry. "What should we do now?"

"I suppose we could go out to the gardens," Merry answered. "I am sure that Faramir will be wondering what's keeping us."

"I hope so," I said softly, feeling uneasy as I remembered how ill he had looked during the night. Nevertheless, I followed Merry down the hall, putting on my cloak as I went, and out the door into the deserted garden.

"That's strange," Merry said, looking around. "Faramir is usually out here by now."

"Perhaps he will come soon," I replied, though I knew in my heart that he would not.

Sure enough, though Merry and I waited in the gardens until after the noon-meal, Faramir did not come. "This isn't like him at all. At least, I do not think it is," Merry wondered aloud. "I mean, I've only known him for a few days."

I frowned and replied, "Something is wrong." I told him of the strange mood that the Steward had been in when I had seen him in the sitting room during the night, and in the gardens the evening before.

Merry frowned as well as he said, "That does not sound like him either."

"I know," I said. "Whatever is troubling him must be quite serious."

"We should go talk to him then," Merry replied.

"And if he wishes to be alone?" I asked. "We cannot force him to tell us what is wrong."

"I think that he might talk to you," Merry said softly, a somewhat strange look in his eyes. I wondered at that, but it disappeared as quickly as it had come as he added, "Anyway, we have to try." I reluctantly nodded agreement, and we went back into the Houses.

"It is no use, Ioreth," I could hear Mithríel saying as we climbed the last few stairs to the upper hall. "He has not even touched any food today, and he has barely said two words since…" Her voice trailed off as she saw Merry and I.

"Is something wrong with Faramir?" I asked. The two healers looked at each other uncomfortably.

"He is not ill, is he?" Merry added with concern.

Ioreth looked at Mithríel. "Perhaps he will speak to one of them," she said slowly. Mithríel nodded.

Merry boldly walked up to the door and knocked. "Faramir? Are you all right?" he asked.

There was a pause, then I could hear Faramir's voice, quiet but firm, saying, "Leave me, Merry." Merry looked surprised and a little hurt.

I clenched my jaw, unable to help feeling a little angry with Faramir for being so uncharacteristically rude. "Is the door unlocked?" I asked Mithríel.

"It is, my lady. But I am not certain that he will wish to see you," she answered.

"If I can kill an orc, I think that I can handle talking to your Steward," I said, lifting my head proudly.

"I must warn you, he can be quite stubborn when he gets a notion in his head," Ioreth cautioned.

"And I can be just as stubborn, if not more," I retorted, knocking on the door. "Faramir?" I asked.

"Please, just leave me alone," he said, his voice muffled through the thick wood.

"I am sorry, but I cannot," I replied. I glanced back at the others as I laid my hand on the door latch. Mithríel and Ioreth nodded, then left.

"If you need me, I will be down the hall," Merry whispered. I nodded and gave him a grateful smile, then opened the door and entered the room, leaving the door open behind me.

The small room was much like mine, with simple furnishings and a window facing towards the mountains of the East. I could see that the fire had completely burned out—quite some time ago, if the chill in the room was any indication. I did not see Faramir at first; it took me a moment to find him sitting on the floor, with his back against the wall on the far side of the bed. He rested his elbows on his knees, with his head slumped heavily against the wall. His unshaven face looked haggard, as if he had not slept at all; he wore the same clothes as he had the day before, but much more rumpled, and his dark hair fell haphazardly into his closed eyes. I sat down on the ground next to him, smoothing my skirt and resting my broken arm in my lap. As he heard my skirts rustling, he opened his eyes; his gaze was nearly lifeless. "You do not listen very well," he muttered, not even looking at me.

"The healers have said nothing else," I said in a pitiful attempt to lighten his mood somewhat. He made no reply, as I expected, so I asked, "Faramir, what is wrong?"

"Why should you care?" he asked, and I was surprised at the bitter undercurrent in his voice.

"Because," I said firmly, "You are my friend, Faramir. Or has everything that you have said to me this week meant nothing?" My jaw clenched slightly at the thought; I truly wanted to believe that I could trust him.

His face softened slightly, and he finally glanced over at me out of the corner of his eye. The raw pain in his gaze was almost overwhelming. He finally shook his head slightly. "No…I meant every word of it."

The relief I felt at those words made me release a breath I had not known I was holding, and I unclenched my jaw. "I truly am sorry if I was harsh with you before. But you have been saying all week that you wanted to help me, Faramir. Please, let me try to do the same."

"You cannot," he said softly. "No one can."

The despair on his face grieved me. "Faramir, about what I said earlier… if you do wish me to go, I will trouble you no longer," I stammered. He still did not answer. "Do you wish me to leave then?" I asked more gently.

He stared into nothing for awhile, apparently having some sort of silent debate with himself. "No," he finally whispered.

"Then I will not," I assured him. Neither of us spoke again for a time, until, finally, I could stand the silence no longer. "Do you wish to talk about it?" When he did not respond, I asked, "Was it something that Lord Húrin said to you? You have been so quiet ever since he came last night."

Faramir lifted his head a bit. "We only spoke of how things stand within the city, particularly the defenses. The gates were destroyed in the siege, so if we have need to defend ourselves against another attack, it will be much more difficult this time. We also spoke of what tasks must be accomplished once I can begin fulfilling my duties as Steward."

I just looked at him, unconvinced. "I do not think that this is what is troubling you."

Faramir sighed, staring out listlessly into the room once more. "No," he finally admitted. "After he left, I was thinking of how I came to this office. Every attempt that I have made to speak with anyone who might know the truth of my father's death has only gotten me vague answers, if those I question do not attempt to lead me to other matters in the conversation. I had to know the truth…" His voice trailed off.

I reached out and turned his face towards me, then dropped my hand to my lap. His eyes were filled with such intense pain that it hurt me to look at him, but still I kept my gaze steady. "Faramir," I said, "If you do not wish to speak of this, I will not force you to. But if you do want to talk, I will listen."

Faramir glanced down, then took a deep, shuddering breath and began. "We…we parted on very ill terms. He thought that I had erred in my dealings with Frodo, and that I had failed him and all of Gondor by letting him go. And with Boromir gone…" His voice trailed off for a moment, but he shook his head slightly and continued, "He sent me to attempt to keep Osgiliath from falling. We both knew that all hope of keeping the city was lost, for the forces of the Dark Lord were too many, but he would not be moved. I asked him to think better of me if I returned. His response was to say that it would depend on the manner of my return. That was the last thing I ever heard him say to me."

_How could anyone say that to his own child?_ I wondered angrily. Though I could hardly remember my own father, I had never had any reason to doubt that he cared for me. And even during the darkest days of my uncle's illness, deep down I had always known that he loved Éomer and I as his own children. Then I was struck anew with fear for my brother—what if he died, and the last thing I had said to him was to berate him for his stubbornness in refusing to let me accompany him? I bit my lip, then forced my mind back to the present as Faramir continued softly, his voice thick with emotion. "I cannot remember being brought back to the city, nor can I remember anything else that happened until Lord Aragorn called me back. When I awoke, the lord of Dol Amroth informed me of the Steward's death, but neither he nor anyone else would tell me how. I knew all along in my heart that it had to be a terrible end, but…I ordered Daeron to tell me. I had to; he would not speak of it otherwise. I wish that I had not…"

"What happened, Faramir?" I asked gently.

Faramir's breath was ragged now, and he looked like he was struggling hard to maintain control of himself. "He believed that I was dying, and the city was under siege. We were losing the battle, and no word had reached us of your people coming to our aid. He…he decided that there was no hope, and he…" He closed his eyes for a long moment, swallowing hard, then finally took a deep breath and finished, "He built a pyre…he died there, in the fire."

My eyes widened as I fumbled for something—anything—to say to him. "Oh, Faramir…" I finally breathed.

"That is not all," he interrupted. His voice was a choked whisper, and I suddenly realized that I was holding his hand as it trembled slightly. I almost pulled away, startled, but one look at his face was enough to keep my hands steady. He refused to meet my gaze as he said, "He tried to burn me as well."

All I could do was stare at him in horror; no words would come. Faramir's jaw tightened as he said, "We rarely saw eye-to-eye on anything. I knew that I was a disappointment to him, that he held my brother in much higher esteem, but…" I could see the last remnants of his self-control crumbling as he let his head fall into his free hand; the pain in his eyes was unbearable. I could barely hear him as he said, "Perhaps he was right…perhaps it would have been better if I had taken Boromir's place. I was prepared to die at Osgiliath; if my death was needed to save my people, it would have been worth the sacrifice. I tried to ensure that as many of my men would return as possible, though I was certain I would not return myself. Perhaps it would have been better to have died there than to have been party to my father's madness and awaken to this!" Faramir swallowed hard, and I could the faint glimmer of tears in his eyes as he opened them. He abruptly reached up and pushed his hair away from his face, wiping his hand against his eyes slightly as he did so. "Forgive me… I should not…" he stammered, looking ashamed. "I should not have burdened you with this."

Something in me softened as I watched him struggle to regain some composure. I genuinely wanted to help him, if I could. _But what comfort could I possibly offer him?_ I wondered; I certainly had not been able to find any for myself. But somehow…perhaps it was from the years of fighting Gríma's effects on my uncle; perhaps it was my own grief over those I had recently lost. Either way, I felt as if I could understand, if only a little, what he was going through, and so I had to try.

"A wise man once told me that it is not weakness to grieve for those you loved," I said softly, looking down at his hand in mine. "There is nothing to forgive, Faramir. And, I do not know how much this is worth," I added, feeling suddenly shy as I lifted my eyes to his face, "but I am glad that you came back."

After a long moment, he finally glanced up at me. Through the tears that still gleamed in his eyes, I could see a faint glimmer of—something. Gratitude, perhaps, I finally decided. "Thank you," he whispered. I nodded and squeezed his hand a little. _What would drive a man to such madness that he would slay his own son?_ I wondered. And what was it about Faramir that drove his father to hate him so, that made him so desperate to prove himself to him that he would throw his life away?

_But did you not do the same thing, when you resolved to ride into battle? _The thought startled me, but I could not deny that I too, would have gladly traded my life for a chance to prove my worth. For a moment, I wavered on my resolve not to tell him what had brought me to Gondor, thinking that perhaps it might ease his pain to know that I understood, if only a little. But as I looked at him, still struggling not to completely succumb to his grief, I realized I could not burden him with the shadows from my own past now. So instead, I continued to sit by him silently, still holding his hand and hoping that somehow the gesture would convey what I could not in words.

After awhile, a tentative knock on the door sounded, and I could see Merry's curly head poking into the room. He gave me a questioning look, then asked, "Faramir?"

Faramir's head jerked up. "Merry," he said hoarsely. "Forgive me, I should not have spoken to you in such a manner."

"It's all right," Merry said. "What is wrong, Faramir?"

"Could I speak with you about it later?" he asked weakly. "I need some time…"

"Of course," Merry interrupted. "I just wanted to see if you were all right."

"I believe that I am a little better," he said.

Merry smiled half-heartedly. "I will see you later then." He bowed his head quickly, then left me alone with Faramir once more.

He looked away from me again, as if he were embarrassed. "Faramir?" I asked tentatively.

"I wish that you had not seen me like this." His voice was soft, and he sounded as if he were speaking half to himself.

_As much as I wish I was not always at my worst when I am near you?_ I wondered. But I kept those thoughts to myself. "I do not think any less of you for grieving for him," I replied.

He looked a little relieved at that. "I should not keep you here any longer," he said.

"I will stay if you wish," I replied. His eyes lifted to mine, and I was suddenly aware of how warm his hand felt in mine. I could feel my face grow hot. "Forgive me, that was terribly forward of me," I quickly amended.

He almost smiled at that. "Thank you for the offer. I…I think that I would like to be alone for now," he said slowly.

"I understand. If you want to talk about it any more later, I will be in my room." I moved to stand up, releasing Faramir's hand. Before I was halfway to my feet, however, he caught my hand in his once more.

I froze, unable to pull my eyes away from his. "Thank you for listening," he said softly.

"How could I do any less? You have been so kind to me." I squeezed his hand slightly again, fighting the impulse to wrap my arms around him to offer him what comfort I could. But the impulse passed, and I released it and headed to the door.

Once there, I paused, then turned and looked back, reluctant to leave him there. But though I could still see the grief in his eyes, he seemed to be a little more at peace than when I had first entered. He met my gaze steadily this time, and once again I was the first to turn away, taking a deep breath as I walked back towards my room.

* * *

**_A/N: Still no major changes here--mainly rewording some narrative, with a few minor adjustments and additions to the dialogue._**

**_Reposted 12/26/07_**


	18. Chapter 18: Darkness Inescapable

**Chapter 18- Darkness Inescapable**

Once I left Faramir, the lack of sleep the night before combined with the effort of trying to help him through his grief left me feeling suddenly quite weary. I headed back to my room and pulled off my sling, then lay down on the bed in hopes that a little rest before supper might make me feel better.

I woke again with a start, covered in sweat and with my limbs tangled in my skirts and a blanket that I did not remember pulling over myself. As I extracted myself from the blanket, I tried to figure out how long I had been asleep; my room was completely darkened. I shivered violently as I rose from my bed; I had no desire to attempt to sleep again.

Images from my nightmares still tumbled together in my mind. I shook my head to try and clear it, but every time I closed my eyes I could still see the shadowy face of the Witch-King and Gríma's leering smile, almost as clearly as I could see my brother desperately fighting, even though he was surrounded and horribly outnumbered by the orcs and other foul creatures that obviously wanted nothing more than to tear him to pieces. I poured some water from the pitcher into the basin with trembling hands, and splashed some onto my face, then wiped it off with the edge of my sleeve.

The room still felt like it was closing in on me. I hurried out to the hall, closing the door softly behind me, then leaned against the wall as I desperately tried to calm myself. It did not work, so I decided to go outside and get some air. I returned to my room, grabbing my cloak and throwing it over my shoulders, then closed the door once more and went down the stairs.

The sky seemed unnaturally dark—it reminded me of the perpetual twilight that we had ridden under on our way to Gondor. Not even the light of a single star could penetrate it. I quickly climbed the stairs leading up to the wall, shivering and holding my cloak closed as tightly as I could while still trying to support my broken arm; I had forgotten to put my sling back on. I had not expected it to be so cold, and even my thick woolen cloak did nothing to ward off the icy edge of the wind.

The sky to the east over the mountains seemed even darker, if that was possible, interrupted only by the occasional red flicker of fire. It was like looking into the shadowy facelessness of the creature that had haunted my dreams ever since the battle, and my heart told me that if I had to face that darkness again, I would not escape a second time. It frightened, more so than I had ever been. It was not so much for myself—I did not fear death. Far from it. But I was afraid for those who had ridden into Mordor—if I could feel the Shadow so keenly from where I was, how much more those who had gone into the very heart of it?

"Éowyn?" I heard Faramir softly calling my name, and turned to see him standing in the doorway of the gardens. He stepped a little closer. "What are you doing out here?"

"I could not sleep," I said, wondering how long I had been standing there alone. The sky gave me no indication; if anything, the darkness had grown thicker. "Is it morning yet?"

"I believe so," he said uncertainly. He paused, then said, "Perhaps you should come inside, Éowyn."

I could not help feeling irritated, even though I knew his intentions were good. "I will remain here," I said stubbornly. He nodded, and retreated back into the Houses. I turned my attention back to the lands beyond the Pelennor, absently trying to warm my right hand with my bandaged left hand. Though the herb Ioreth had used on it the day before had seemed to help at the time, now it felt completely lifeless again.

A sudden, slight weight on my shoulders startled me, and I turned with a gasp to see Faramir standing behind me, now wearing his own heavy green cloak. I had not even heard his footsteps to warn me of his approach. He stepped back to stand on my right side, leaving a thick, deep blue cloak on my shoulders and gently pulling my hair free of the neckline; I wondered if I had only imagined the feel of his hands lingering slightly longer than necessary. "Forgive me for frightening you, my lady," he said apologetically. "You looked cold; I thought that perhaps this might help."

"I was not frightened, just startled; I did not hear your return. And thank you," I belatedly added, feeling the soft velvet brush against my fingers as I pulled it tighter about myself. Even in the dim light, the silver thread that had been intricately worked into tiny stars around the edge gleamed faintly. "It is beautiful," I said. "Where did you get this?"

He smiled faintly, his eyes softening as he looked at me. "It once belonged to my mother," he said, almost shyly. "It was one of the things I had Bergil bring; it was always comforting to have it around."

I looked up at him, stricken; I could not bring myself to take what was perhaps the last remaining heirloom he had of her. "Faramir, I cannot take this from you!"

"Just for today," he replied after a moment's hesitation. "You need it more than I." After a long moment, I nodded assent and murmured my thanks once more as he helped me to clasp it closed at my throat, silently vowing that I would return it as soon as I could. He nodded and looked out towards the East.

"How did you find me here?" I asked.

"I could not sleep either," he said without looking at me. "I was walking, and saw you from the window."

I looked up at him, concerned. Although he had shaved and his hair was less disheveled at this point, he still looked exhausted and grieved. "Faramir, are you… I mean, how are you…" I fumbled for words, wishing I were better at expressing such things.

"I am well enough," he answered, glancing over at me and hesitantly adding, "That was not the reason that I was awake."

"What is it then?"

He looked out steadily towards the mountains. "Something is happening, or will happen soon. I know not what, but my heart tells me that today is going to decide the outcome of this war."

His words strengthened the apprehension that had been growing within me as I kept my silent vigil. As my eye was slowly drawn northward, towards where I thought Éomer had gone, I shivered as the cold wind hit me full in the face, whipping strands of my hair about wildly and making me grateful for the extra warmth that Faramir's cloak provided. Still, I could not turn away.

Though I fervently hoped that Aragorn would return from this battle, my thoughts were turned more towards my brother now. For so long, he had been my closest companion, even when the demands on him as the Third Marshall kept him away from Edoras much of the time. I could not accept the growing likelihood that I would never see him again, especially when we had parted so badly. _Please, Éomer, be careful,_ I prayed silently. _Please come home…_

"What do you look for, Éowyn?" Faramir's voice interrupted my thoughts.

"Does not the Black Gate lie yonder?" I asked in return, gesturing towards the north. "And must he not now be come there? It is seven days since he rode away," I added softly as I wondered once again if he regretted our parting as deeply as I did.

"Seven days," Faramir murmured. "But think not ill of me if I say to you, they have brought me both a joy and a pain that I never thought to know."

I looked up at him incredulously. "Joy?"

"Joy to see you;" he explained, "but pain, because now the fear and doubt of this evil time are grown dark indeed." He paused, and looked down on me tenderly. "Éowyn," he said, his voice thick with emotion, "I would not have this world end now, or lose so soon what I have found."

"Lose what you have found, lord? I know not what in these days you have found that you could lose," As I looked up at him, my heart began to pound under the intensity of his gaze. I looked away, suddenly afraid of what I thought I saw. "But come, my friend, let us not speak of it. Let us not speak at all! I stand upon some dreadful brink, and it is utterly dark in the abyss before my feet, but whether there is any light behind me I cannot tell. For I cannot turn yet," I said, my eyes pleading with him to understand. "I wait for some stroke of doom."

He looked down on me steadily, then finally nodded. "Yes," he said softly. "We wait for the stroke of doom."

He turned back, looking towards the mountains again. The sense of foreboding weighed heavily on me, and in spite of my wish for silence, I could not hold my tongue. "Promise me something, Faramir," I said softly.

"What is your wish?" he asked, turning towards me.

The look in his eyes was almost enough to make me keep my silence, so I turned my eyes back towards the mountains so I would not have to look at him. "If the battle should come to Minas Tirith again, do not try to keep me out of it."

When I glanced at him again, he looked completely stunned. "How can you ask such a thing of me?" he finally asked.

"Would you stand by and do nothing?" I asked in return. "Would you simply wait for them to come and slay you?"

"Of course not," he answered. "But…"

"Then why should I wait passively for death to find me? Because I am a woman?" I asked bitterly.

"No, but…" Faramir said, turning away abruptly.

"Then what?" I interrupted. I could feel my temper rising, but made no effort to stop it.

"If something happened to you…" he started.

"I do not need you to protect me, Faramir!" I exclaimed angrily. "Besides, the chances of something happening would be greatly reduced if I actually have a way to defend myself."

He stood straight, his face smoothing into the carefully controlled expression he so often wore, a slight tension in his jaw the only visible indication that anything was wrong. "As you wish, my lady," he finally said, not looking at me.

"Thank you," I said, once I was sure I could keep my voice calm. But in spite of the satisfaction I felt at winning the argument, I could not help feeling like it was a hollow victory when I saw the pain I had caused him.

I began to deeply regret what I had said, but could not find the words to alleviate the tension that had so quickly come up between us, and so we stood there silently as the wind died down and the sky grew darker, the clouds almost black. Everything seemed unnaturally quiet, and I could not even feel my own heart beating. It seemed to me that all was frozen, waiting. I could not think; I could not be certain I still breathed.

Though I would not have believed it possible, the sky towards the East turned even more black, a rising mountain of darkness relieved only by the occasional flickering of lightning. My jaw tightened, and my hand clenched of its own accord as a cold, stabbing pain shot up my sword-arm. To my surprise, I realized that my fingers had somehow become intertwined with Faramir's, though I could not remember reaching for his hand, nor him taking mine. He glanced over at me, looking just as surprised, but neither of us was willing to let go.

Suddenly, the stone wall began to tremble beneath my feet, throwing me off-balance. Faramir's hand pulled out of mine as he reflexively moved his arm around my shoulder to help steady me, gripping the parapet with his other hand. For a moment, I had a horrible picture in my mind of the wall collapsing and us falling with it, but just as quickly the earth grew still once more.

I looked up at Faramir, wide-eyed, afraid to pull away lest the ground start shaking again. He was still staring out towards the mountains, an uncertain look on his face. "It reminds me of Númenor," he said.

"Of Númenor?" I echoed.

"Yes," he said, sounding as if he were speaking to himself. "Of the land of Westernesse that foundered, and of the great dark wave climbing over the green lands and above the hills, and coming on, darkness inescapable." He shuddered involuntarily as he added, "I often dream of it."

"Then you think that the Darkness is coming? Darkness inescapable?" I asked, shivering as I unconsciously stepped closer to him.

Faramir looked down at me, leaving his arm about my shoulders. "No…it was but a picture in the mind." His face relaxed, a strange light in his eyes as he added, "I do not know what is happening. The reason of my waking mind tells me that great evil has befallen, and we stand at the end of days. But my heart says nay, and all my limbs are light, and a hope and joy are come to me that no reason can deny." I still shivered, and he drew me a little closer; I made no movement to resist. "Éowyn," he said. As I looked up at him, I could see the hope shining in his grey-blue eyes, making him look more at peace than I had ever seen him. "Éowyn, White Lady of Rohan, in this hour I do not believe that any darkness will endure!"

I looked down, unconvinced. I suddenly felt him press a light kiss against my temple and jerked my head up in surprise. Though I was almost certain it was merely a comforting gesture, almost brotherly, I still felt a slight shiver that had nothing to do with the cold. As my eyes met his, he gave me a half-smile, then turned his gaze eastward once more as he dropped his arm. I dropped mine as well, still wondering why he had done that, but my hand quickly found its way into his once more as we continued watching the mountains.

I felt a cool breeze on my face, which quickly picked up and blew my hair away from my face. Still, neither Faramir nor I made any move to release the other's hand. Finally, Faramir nodded towards the sky. "Look, Éowyn," he said, a hopeful look on his face, and I followed his gaze until I could see a break in the clouds, through which golden beams of sunlight spilled. As we silently watched, the wind scattered the clouds, and the darkness to the east dissipated until large patches of blue sky could be seen. In the distance, I could see the river sparkling in the sun, while the scarce patches of green grass that remained on the Pelennor swayed gently in the breeze. The air seemed to have grown slightly warmer as well. I realized, to my surprise, that the pain in my arm had completely vanished, and I pulled my hand away from Faramir's and rubbed at it experimentally with my other hand, surprised that it was beginning to feel warmer. Faramir looked at me, concerned. "Is your arm troubling you?" he asked.

"No," I said, amazed. "It is fine." I paused, looking down. "Forgive me, Faramir. I just… I mean…" I did not know how to explain that I could not bear to be caged up again. Especially not by him.

"I know that you can fight. I never intended to say otherwise," he replied.

"I know." I relaxed a little more at that, but still felt the need to ask, "You really would not have kept me from the battle?"

Faramir finally looked at me, an intense look in his blue-grey eyes. "Would I have been able to prevent you from fighting?"

"No," I admitted.

"Had the battle come here, I would rather fight alongside you than spend what time remained to me wondering what your fate had been. But I…"

"Lord Faramir," a voice behind us interrupted. We both turned to see Daeron standing in the doorway. He quickly bowed, then added, "The Lord Húrin is here to see you."

Regret flashed across Faramir's face, then disappeared just as quickly. "I must go," he said.

"Of course." He nodded, his gaze holding mine for just a moment, then he turned and walked back to the Houses. I looked back over the city again, biting my lip as I cradled my right hand in my left, rubbing at it absently. I could hear the sounds of celebration starting to rise from the lower levels, and wondered why my heart still felt so heavy.

-------

Not long after Faramir left, I went back inside as well, and found Merry sitting on a bench, looking out the window. He looked over as I entered the Houses. "Oh, hello," he said half-heartedly.

"Hello, Merry," I replied, echoing his greeting as I sat down next to him. The hobbit looked unusually downcast, so I added, "Is something wrong?"

"I don't know," he said. "They are saying we won, and that's why the Shadow is going away. But I'm really afraid for Frodo and Sam, and for Pippin. I don't know if they'll…" his voice trailed off.

"I know," I said softly, looking down. "If anything happened to Éomer, I will never forgive myself."

"It wouldn't be your fault though," Merry protested.

"I know, but..." I sighed. "I wish I knew that he is well."

We both fell silent as we kept our vigil at the window, looking for any word from Mordor, even though we both knew that the news could not arrive so quickly. I could scarcely dare to hope that somehow they had escaped whatever had happened beyond the mountains, and Merry, too, seemed to lack his usual optimism.

I looked up as the door opened, and Bergil practically ran into the room, an excited look on his face. "Bergil? What's happening?" Merry asked, plopping down into a sitting position.

"We won!" the boy exclaimed, a huge grin on his face. "The news is all over the city—giant talking birds just came and they were singing and everything!"

"But what about Éomer? Or Aragorn? Is there any word about them?" I blurted out.

Bergil's smile faded a bit. "Well, no, but I am sure that they are both fine," he said, brightening up again. "I need to go find my mother." And he quickly left the room.

I rested my elbow on the windowsill, then propped my cheek on my hand as I turned back to the window. Merry put a hand on my arm. "If anyone could make it out of there, Éowyn, I'm certain that Éomer could."

"Thank you," I said automatically, swallowing hard past the lump that was rising in my throat. I wanted to believe him, but I was still too filled with doubt. When he saw that I would make no further reply, Merry got back to his knees and looked out the window once more, and we watched together in silence.

-------

Merry and I finally decided to go back to our rooms, as it had become painfully obvious that no further word would come from the company that day, and went to the hallway in the upper level of the Houses. We paused outside an open door as we heard Ioreth saying in a lecturing tone, "And if that shoulder bothers you again in the slightest, you must come straight back here, my lord. I will not hear of you permanently injuring yourself or making yourself ill again because you refuse to take the time to look after yourself."

Merry and I peeked around the doorframe to see Ioreth and Húrin in the room with Faramir, who was tightening the laces at the front of his tunic. "Of course, Ioreth," he said, an amused sparkle in his eyes in spite of the serious look on his face.

"Faramir?" Merry blurted out. All three occupants of the room turned towards us, and the amusement quickly faded from Faramir's face. "Are you leaving?"

"Please, excuse me," Faramir said to Ioreth and Húrin before stepping into the hall. He looked down at Merry before adding, "I am to take up my duties as Steward in the morning. Ioreth says that I am healed enough to go home."

I blinked, stunned. I had never considered that Faramir would be leaving eventually—truthfully, I had never believed in the possibility that our peoples would be victorious in this battle. Feeling stupid for not having thought of that sooner, I finally managed to choke out, "You are… leaving tonight, then?"

Faramir looked at me, and for a long moment neither of us spoke as he held my gaze. "Tomorrow morning," he said softly. I broke the gaze first, looking down at the floor.

"But you'll come back and visit, right?" Merry prodded.

"There is much that needs to be done, so I do not know how often I will be able to get away. But I will come back to see both of you as soon as I can," he promised. I could not think of anything to say, but I could feel him looking at me, and finally raised my eyes to his grey-blue ones. He looked down at me warmly, although I could see traces of sadness on his face. I dropped my gaze, biting my lip. "I must gather my things," he finally said.

"We'll see you at supper then," Merry replied, and Faramir nodded and retreated into his room. I turned and quickly walked towards my room; I was about to close the door behind me when Merry appeared in the doorway, preventing me from shutting it. For a long moment we just looked at each other, then Merry said, "Is something wrong?"

"No, I am fine," I quickly answered.

"No, you're not." Merry crossed his arms and looked up at me stubbornly. I turned my back on him and unclasped the blue cloak, tossing it onto the bed, then repeating the action with my own cloak. "He said he'll come back, you know."

"I told you, I am fine," I said, glancing back just long enough to glare at him; his words hit a little too close to the mark for my comfort. "Things will be rather…different...without him here. That is all."

"It won't be for long though; everyone will be coming back now that the war's over."

"I know," I said softly.

Merry nodded slowly, looking thoughtful. "I'm going to go see how long it will be until supper."

"Let me know when it is ready," I said absently. He nodded and closed the door behind him, leaving me alone in the room.

I walked over to the window and stared out at the darkening sky; I could see the faint twinkle of the first stars of evening. It felt strange to see them; I had been certain that their light had been veiled forever. A long time ago, perhaps, the sight would have brought me hope. But now it just left me feeling strangely empty.

It made no sense. The Shadow had departed; perhaps my people and the people of Gondor would finally know a time of peace. If my brother had not fallen in the battle, he would be returning soon. And Aragorn…

No, I would not think of him. Though I was beginning to realize that he had not meant any ill in healing me and then leaving me here, I knew he did not love me, nor would he. And the thought of facing him again once he returned, knowing what a fool I had been to believe something that so clearly was not there, was nearly unbearable.

Thinking about Faramir, strangely, left me just as unsettled as thinking about Aragorn. I reasoned to myself that I was just upset that he would be leaving. I had never expected him to become such a good friend so quickly, and I truly would miss his company. But he had his duty to his people; I could not begrudge him that.

_And what would you know about duty? _I shivered as the night grew darker. What _would_ I do now? The stars seemed to mock me as much as my own thoughts; their very presence was a painful reminder that I had missed my opportunity for death with honor. I would return to my homeland and, if I were not imprisoned or banished for failing to obey a direct order from the king, would return to my place in the court. But even if Gríma never returned, I could still see no hope of anything being different—I would still be spending my days waiting on the king and his guests, and staying behind watching for their return when they rode out to battle. How could I go back to that?

For a moment, though I knew full well that Éomer would never allow such a thing, I allowed myself to entertain the thought that perhaps, now that I had proven myself in battle, I might at times be allowed a place among the Riders. But I could see no good that had come out of my attempt to fight to defend my people; my king and uncle had still fallen, I had estranged my brother, and more likely than not lost the trust of my people completely.

I took a ragged breath and leaned my forehead against the cool wood of the window frame, closing my eyes. I could still see no clear path out of the darkness that surrounded me, nor could I see any hope for me in the day's victory.

A knock on the door made me jerk my head up. "Éowyn?" Merry said through the door. "Supper is ready."

"I will be down shortly," I replied, looking up at the stars imploringly for a final moment, then taking a deep breath as I walked towards the door. With hope or without it, I would go on as I had for this last week. There was nothing else I could do.

_**

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**__**A/N: Though it's not canon, in the original chapter I added a bit of dialogue between Eowyn and Faramir while waiting on the walls. The purpose was mostly to show Eowyn that a man could be concerned for her safety without necessarily putting her in a cage, as well as to show a glimpse of her changing feelings towards Faramir. I decided to keep it in while reworking it, and I do hope that you won't be offended by that.**_

**_I did make a few minor changes, mostly in slight rewording of narrative. I did change Bergil's dialogue a bit-- just seemed more like something a boy would say this way._**

**_Reposted 12/27/08_**


	19. Chapter 19: New Beginnings

_A/N: I apologize for taking so long to get this up... I just finished up my semester last week, and had a ton of work I needed to do for that. But I do have the next couple of chapters after this one ready to go, so I'll have another update up before the end of the week. Thanks for your patience, and as usual, shoutouts are at the bottom. :)_

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**Chapter 19- New Beginnings**

I couldn't sleep much again that night, and finally rose from my bed as the room began to lighten. As I glanced out of the window, cradling my broken arm with my other hand, I could see a lone figure standing out on the wall, looking towards the east. _Faramir,_ I decided. As the grey pre-dawn light brightened a little more, I could see that my suspicions had been correct. I leaned against the window-frame, watching Faramir as he watched the sky. He never turned towards the window, but as the first rays of the sun crept over the edge of the mountains in a shadowless sky, I could almost see the soft smile that I knew would be on his face. The light breeze ruffled his dark hair, making his cloak billow out slightly. For a moment I considered going down to the gardens and joining him, but then decided that I would leave him be. He had waited his entire life to see this, and I would not spoil it for him by interrupting. So I turned away from the window and lay back down on the bed, staring up at the ceiling.

Mithríel soon came up and helped me dress for the day, then unwrapped and bathed my broken arm. As she felt along the length of my forearm, she gave me an encouraging smile. "It's healing well," she said as she began to re-wrap it. "In another week or so you should be able to go without the sling." I nodded, then thanked her and went downstairs.

After a quiet breakfast, during which neither Faramir nor I really felt like talking and even Merry was quite subdued, Húrin came to tell Faramir that everything was ready for his return home. Faramir replied that he would be ready to go shortly, and Merry and I waited with Húrin while he went back up to his room for the last time.

He returned a few moments later, his cloak clasped loosely about his neck. "There's no need to look so glum, Merry," Faramir said as he knelt before the hobbit, giving him a half-smile.

"Sorry," Merry said apologetically, tentatively smiling back. Faramir clapped him lightly on the shoulder, then straightened up to face me.

I couldn't hold his gaze for long, and I let my head drop as I bit my lip slightly. "Éowyn," he said, "Please, look at me." I reluctantly looked up again; the gentle warmth in his eyes was almost overwhelming. "Are you going to be all right?" I nodded mutely. _I'm going to miss you,_ I wanted to say, but the words just wouldn't form, nor would any others. "I will come back to visit you, if you wish."

I ventured a tiny smile. "I would like that," I finally managed to say.

He dropped his hand to lift mine to his lips, brushing a light kiss on the back of my hand before saying, "Goodbye, Éowyn."

"Goodbye," I echoed. I could still feel his kiss burning into my hand, and my face grew warm at the thought. He just stood there looking at me for a moment longer. Finally, he nodded his head to me respectfully, glanced over at Húrin, and opened the door. I kept my gaze steady until the door quietly closed behind them, then my head dropped a little. I felt Merry's hand on my arm, and forced a half-smile onto my face as I looked down at him. _At least I still have him here_, I thought, determined to at least try to be cheerful for the Halfling's sake.

-------

No word came from Mordor that day, and though I tried to act as if everything was fine, even Merry couldn't distract me enough from my anxiety over my brother for me to maintain a conversation with him for very long. As a result, I spent most of the afternoon and early evening pacing the walls alone, looking for any messenger from the East.

When Merry and I sat down for breakfast the next morning, I was still too anxious to eat. Merry was also quiet, as if he had finally given up any effort to draw me out again, so it was a welcome distraction when we heard Bergil protesting in the next room, "But Mother, why can't I go?"

Merry jumped down from his chair first, and walked towards the doorway. I followed just in time to hear Mithríel's weary-sounding reply, "I cannot take you, Bergil. There are still many soldiers here who need to be tended. And you are _not_ going by yourself."

"Going where?" Merry asked.

Bergil looked at us sullenly as Mithríel replied, "He wants to go see the ceremony for Lord Faramir to take his office."

"I have to, so I can tell Father about it when he comes home!" Bergil complained.

"I could go with him," Merry offered. "I _am_ of age."

"That's very kind, Meriadoc, but…" Mithríel started to say. A disappointed look crossed Bergil's face.

"What if I accompanied them as well?" I interrupted.

Mithríel considered this a moment, then nodded slowly. "I suppose that would be all right," she finally said. Bergil's face lit up in a wide grin. "You do know how to get there, Bergil?"

"Of course," the dark-haired boy said indignantly. "Come on, let's go!" I looked over at Merry, and he shrugged as we followed Bergil out of the room.

-------

"People who aren't of the court _are_ allowed to go see the ceremony, right, Bergil?" I asked as we walked through the streets of Minas Tirith, feeling suddenly uncertain in spite of my gratitude for the chance to leave the Houses, if only for a little while.

"Of course," he said cheerfully. "And I'm certain that Captain Faramir will be quite happy to see you there, my lady. And you too, of course" he added hastily as he glanced over at Merry. Merry grinned, though he quickly tried to hide it, then began asking Bergil about the buildings we passed, and I fell silent as we continued walking.

The Citadel of Gondor made me catch my breath as we approached it. Never in my life had I seen a building so large. It towered far above our heads in gleaming white stone, surrounded by a large paved courtyard in which a tree unlike any I had seen before stood. The bark was a strange, almost silvery-white color, and it appeared to be completely dead. _Why wouldn't they just cut it down?_ I wondered. I didn't realize I had spoken aloud until Bergil answered, "That's the tree of the King. The stories say that it will come back to life if the king ever returns." The thought of something so obviously dead coming to life seemed completely absurd to me, but I kept my silence.

The inside of the hall seemed even more immense than the outside. I could almost see my reflection in the polished marble floors. Imposing statues of what I assumed were former rulers of Gondor alternated with columns of black stone lining the white walls, stretching up towards the tall ceiling. And there were people everywhere; apparently word of the morning's events had spread quickly throughout the city, and it seemed that everyone who had not evacuated the city had come to this place.

Merry strained to see over the crowd, standing on his toes. "Can you see anything, Éowyn?" he asked.

I scanned the crowd, and finally spotted Faramir talking to Húrin. It was a little bit of a shock to see him wearing more formal clothing, since he had worn simple breeches and tunics during his entire stay at the Houses. The look of the more formal over-tunic, in silver-embroidered black, suited him surprisingly well, I thought, then quickly forced the thought out of my mind. "Yes, he's over there," I said, motioning towards him.

Bergil frowned. "We'll never see anything back here!"

"We'll just have to move closer then. Come on," I replied, and the three of us began slowly weaving through the crowd until we were standing slightly off to Faramir's side, just out of his line of vision. I motioned to Merry and Bergil to stand in front of me so they could see better just as Húrin held up his hand to silence the crowd.

Once the room had fallen silent, he called out, "People of Gondor! We have come here today to raise Faramir, son of Denethor, to the office of Lord and Steward of the realm." A group of soldiers clad in green and brown cheered a little, though it was subdued, and the corner of Faramir's mouth twitched as if he were trying to suppress a smile. The soldiers must have been under his command, I decided, as Húrin continued. "This office is given to him by right, as a descendent of the House of Húrin, Steward to King Minardil. However, if there is one here with reason to believe he is unfit for office, let him speak now."

The room remained silent.. After a moment, Húrin asked, "Lord Faramir, are you prepared to take this office?"

His gaze was steady as he replied, "I am." Then, to my surprise, he knelt down before Húrin. The older man seemed to have expected it, however, and listened as Faramir said, "Here do I swear fealty and service to Gondor, to speak and to be silent, to do and to let be, to come and to go, in need or plenty, in peace or war, in living or dying, from this hour henceforth, until death take me, or the world ends…" a bright, hopeful smile crossed Faramir's face as he finished, "…or the king returns. So say I, Faramir son of Denethor."

"So hear I, in the name of the people of Gondor, and we will not forget it, nor fail to reward that which is given," Húrin said. Faramir looked as if he were expecting more to the oath, but Húrin shook his head almost imperceptibly, at which a faint, grateful smile crossed Faramir's face. He nodded towards one of the men standing off to the side, who walked forward with a white rod that he handed to Húrin. "And I now present you with the token of your office," Húrin continued, passing the rod to Faramir. I was close enough to hear his soft addition, "Forgive me, my lord, but there was no time to have a new signet ring made."

"My days as Steward are already numbered, Húrin. There is no need," Faramir replied smoothly. Húrin nodded, then turned back to the crowd.

"My people, I present to you your Steward!" Húrin called out, amongst cheers from the crowd.

I looked down at Bergil and Merry. "We should go back."

"Can we please stay longer, Lady Éowyn?" Bergil pleaded.

"I think we should. We haven't had the chance to properly congratulate him. And anyway," Merry added when I raised an eyebrow at him, "I am older than you, Éowyn, so you have to listen to me, right?"

The thought of taking orders from someone half my height made me laugh out loud. "Very well, Merry, we'll stay until you give us permission to leave." Merry smiled and nodded, satisfied, and we moved off to the side to wait for an opportune moment to speak with Faramir.

We had to wait longer than I expected; as I watched, he was being greeted with smiles and congratulations on recovering his health and on his new office everywhere he turned. It was obvious the people of his city loved him. He returned the greetings kindly, but though he hid it well, it seemed to me that he was growing increasingly uncomfortable. When he finally turned towards us, Faramir looked genuinely surprised to see us there, but smiled. I nodded slightly, smiling back. After many more greetings and congratulations, the crowd finally began to disperse some, and Faramir finally made his way over to us.

"Éowyn!" he said with a warm smile. "What are you doing here? I didn't expect to see you."

"You should thank Bergil, my lord. It was his idea; Merry and I were only allowed to come in order to chaperone him." Faramir looked over at Bergil, who grinned proudly.

"Congratulations, my lord Steward," Merry said with a solemn bow, though the effect was somewhat broken by the wide smile on his face.

"Thank you, Merry," he replied, smiling back as he knelt down to face the boy and the hobbit, though I could still see a hint of sadness in his eyes. "It is wonderful to see both of you as well," he said. "And thank you for coming." He stood back to his feet and added softly, "It's good to have some friends here." Then he glanced at Bergil and I and added, "Will you be going back soon?"

I gave Merry a sidelong glance, waiting for his nod. When Faramir gave me a questioning look, I smiled sweetly and said, "Merry's in charge today, since he's the eldest."

Faramir quickly stifled a laugh, but decided to play along. "Very well then. Merry, might I have your permission to accompany your party back to the Houses of Healing?" he asked formally.

"Of course, my lord," Merry answered, a mischievous twinkle in his eye. I wondered at that, though I did not have to wonder for long. Shortly after we left the Citadel, Merry and Bergil scampered off, Merry saying that since he was of age he was perfectly suited for keeping an eye on Bergil, leaving me alone with Faramir. They stayed just close enough to be in sight, but out of earshot.

I shook my head with a smile. "Perfectly suited for getting the boy in trouble seems closer to the truth."

A smile flashed across Faramir's face, though I could still see a trace of sadness in his eyes. "He means well, though," he said.

"How are you doing?" I asked more softly, concerned.

"Relieved, now that _that's_ over with," he said with a rueful smile, gesturing back towards the Citadel. "I am grateful that Húrin decided to keep the ceremony informal."

"_That_ was informal?" I asked, surprised.

Faramir laughed a little. "And what would informal be in Rohan?" he asked.

"Hand over the rod, then break out the ale," I replied, making him laugh harder. "No, we have our traditions—the lords of the land must swear fealty to the new king, and any opposing claims to the throne must be dealt with before he is crowned. And we have others. But it seems that my people do not stand on ceremony as much as yours."

"I see," he said.

We walked in silence for awhile, until I asked, "Was it hard for you, taking that oath?"

He looked down. "I wish Boromir had been here today. This would have been easier if he were. Especially since this office should have been his," he added with a rueful look.

I laid a hand on his arm. "I'm certain he would have been happy for you, and that you'll do your duty honorably."

"I hope so," he said. "At least it's only for a short time."

"You do not wish to be Steward then?" I asked.

He shook his head. "I never have." He looked down. "I know it was foolish of me, but I always assumed Boromir would be here to fulfill that duty when the time came. I would have been perfectly content to aid him however I could, but…" his voice trailed off as he glanced down.

I nodded, understanding completely. "Faramir?" I asked. He looked up at me again, and I hesitated before asking, "What will happen to you after Lord Aragorn returns to the city?"

"I don't know," he admitted. "I will ease the transition as much as I can, of course, but after that…" A small smile crossed his face as he added, "Perhaps I'll return to Ithilien for awhile." I nodded, remembering how enthusiastically he had spoken of that land, but did not comment. After a moment, he asked, "And what about you?"

I furrowed my brow; my thoughts on the matter were no clearer than they had been before, and I was certain they would not be at least until I heard some word from Éomer. "I don't know," I finally said, glancing over at Faramir. He nodded thoughtfully, but dropped the subject, and so we walked in silence until we reached the doors of the Houses.

Merry and Bergil were already waiting there for us. "Finally! It took you long enough!" Merry exclaimed with a wide grin.

"Yes, I suppose it would take a little longer when you manage to refrain from running through the streets like a wild stallion," I retorted, a small smile playing at the corner of my mouth.

Merry snickered, then turned to Faramir. "Can you stay and visit any longer?"

Faramir shook his head regretfully. "I must go back. But I do have a question for you first, Bergil," he said, kneeling down in front of the boy. "I may need someone quick to run some errands for me over the next few weeks, and I know you've been a great help to the healers recently. If it's all right with your mother, do you think perhaps you could assist me a little?"

Bergil's green eyes widened. "Really?" he asked, the excitement obvious in his voice.

"I do need to check with your mother first," Faramir reminded him. "But yes, really."

"I'll go get her now," Bergil said, pulling open the door and running into the Houses.

After Faramir, Merry and I followed him inside, Merry announced that he was absolutely famished and needed to go to the kitchens to find something to eat. As he left, Faramir turned to me and asked, "What troubles you, Éowyn?"

I dropped my gaze, embarrassed that he could read me so easily. "How long would it take a messenger to get here from the East?" I asked.

"I don't know," he admitted. "All our efforts have been to defend our borders. We've never sent anyone into the Dark Lands in my lifetime, not until now." He paused, then asked, "Your brother?"

"He's all the family I have left," I said softly, still looking at my feet and fighting back the tears that suddenly pricked at my eyes. There was no point in giving in to weeping again, I told myself firmly. Not until I knew for sure what Éomer's fate had been.

I felt a light, warm touch on my chin, tilting my head up. When I raised my eyes to Faramir's, he replied, "I'm sure that Éomer will send word as soon as he can, Éowyn."

Though my mind still raised the question of whether he would have survived to send any word, the calm reassurance in Faramir's voice set me more at ease. "Thank you," I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

A light knock on the doorframe sounded, and Faramir's hand abruptly dropped as we both turned to see Mithríel in the doorway, Bergil close behind. "Forgive me for interrupting, my lord," she said politely. "Bergil says you wished to speak with me?"

"I should go," I said, a strange mixture of relief and disappointment welling up within me. "Good day, Faramir."

"Good day, Éowyn," he echoed, bowing his head before turning to Mithríel. "Yes, I did wish to speak with you," he said to her as I left the room. I paused at the doorway and glanced back; for a moment, our eyes met and the briefest smile flashed across his face. I couldn't keep a tentative smile off of my own face, though I could feel the blood rushing to my cheeks as I quickly whirled around and walked away.

* * *

_As usual, thanks for reading!_

_**DaughterofKings-** Hi! The main reason I took so long is up at the top. And don't worry, I'm sure that all thoughts of Aragorn will be driven from her head soon enough. ;) And I haven't gotten to see Lost yet, because I've had to work every night it was on, but I'm hoping I'll have a chance to catch up at some point--I've heard it's really good._

**_Rosie_- **_ooh, I'm really glad I got that chapter up before the EE... not that there was any way I could have been influenced by the movie...grr. Anyway, the comment about the security blanket made me laugh. :)_

_**Caroly-** Yeah, I know what you mean about wanting to procrastinate on schoolwork! I guess you're on break now too... I know I'm absolutelyestatic that this semester's over! And I'm afraid you'll have to wait a few more chapters for him to declare himself..._

**_Cleasmile-_ **_I'm glad you've been enjoying this! And poor Faramir...every time he gets a chance to tell her, he's interrupted!_

_**Dimfuin-** Truthfully, I don't blame you for skipping right to the juicy stuff. ;) And I'm glad you think the characterization is good...I tried really hard on that!_

_**Raksha-** Since I'm sure you were as disappointed that the movie didn't really have that scene at all as I was, I'll save the rant for TORC. And your comment about them "melting" together is making me get that "I'll stop the world and melt with you..." song stuck in my head!_

_**Rubic-cube**- You have no idea how much I'd love to forget about life and finish this story up! Unfortunately, it has a way of hunting me down anyway. :P _

_**Antisocial mint-** Just to clarify about his hair... I'm basing it mainly on the book version, in which his hair is black. (The section that the last chapter was based on specifically said that his "raven" hair mingled with hers in the wind when they were on top of the walls.) And I hope this chapter was worth the wait!_

_**Rebby**- Sorry to keep you waiting! And I'm glad you're enjoying it._


	20. Chapter 20: Merry's Departure

**Chapter 20 –Merry's Departure**

Merry and I decided to spend our afternoon in the garden once again. While he was content to sit under one of the trees, looking up at the sky, I spent the time pacing the walls again, looking out over the Pelennor. Finally, as the sun began its final descent for the day, washing the battle-scarred field in gold, I could see two tiny figures crossing the field from the east, heading towards the city. "Merry!" I called out.

"What is it?" he said, quickly getting to his feet and climbing the stairs up to the top of the wall.

"Over there," I said, pointing.

Merry stood on his toes, straining to see over the parapet, his eyes widening when he finally spotted the riders. "Do you think they're from Mordor?" he asked.

"They have to be," I said. "Come on!" I ran down the stairs, Merry quickly following, and into the Houses.

I had almost reached the door leading to the street when Ioreth stepped in front of it. I stopped short, Merry stumbling in an attempt to keep himself from running into me. "Where do you think you're going?" Ioreth asked sternly.

"Messengers are coming to the city. I must go…" I started to say.

"And if there's any message for you, you'll get it much sooner if you stay here," Ioreth interrupted.

"But…" I protested.

Ioreth crossed her arms. "If your brother sent any message for you, he'll send the messenger here. If you go wandering through the city looking for him, it will just take that much longer. And yes, this _is_ the only door leading out of the Houses," she said in a tone that indicated she would not be argued with. For a moment, all I could do was glare at her in frustration, even though I reluctantly had to admit that she was probably right. Then I abruptly whirled around and stalked back out to the gardens. When I looked back a moment later, she was still by the door, looking as if she were standing guard to ensure I didn't try to sneak out after all. I sighed and went back to my vigil atop the walls.

The riders had nearly reached the barricade that stood where the gate had been, and I could see a flurry of activity on the first few levels; apparently word of the messengers had spread quickly. They crossed under the shadow of the wall and I could no longer see them for a moment. "What's happening?" Merry asked, coming up beside me.

"They're entering the city," I answered, still straining to see down to the lower levels. "It looks like they're coming up here."

"They probably have to go see Faramir," Merry pointed out.

"But if there's a message from Éomer, he'll send it here," I said impatiently as I descended the walls and began to pace around the gardens again, suddenly wishing that Faramir had stayed longer after all. Merry didn't answer, but I could tell that he was thinking of his own kinsfolk from the anxious look on his face.

We didn't have to wait as long as either of us expected; Ioreth soon came out to the gardens, followed closely by a tall, broad-shouldered Rider, his sun-bleached blond hair pulled back at the nape of his neck, carrying his helm under one arm and with his sword still strapped to his waist. "Your messenger, my lady," she said, not quite able to keep the smug look off of her face as she turned to go.

The Rider bowed politely before speaking. "I bring word from Lord Éomer, my lady," he said to me.

"And how is my brother? Is he well?" I asked, unable to hold back my impatience any longer.

"He is alive and unhurt, my lady," he replied. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, almost overwhelmed with relief.

I opened my eyes again when I felt a slight tug at my sleeve, to see Merry looking up at me with a concerned look on my face. "Éowyn?" he asked.

I smiled slightly, remembering that Merry couldn't understand Rohirric. "He's fine, Merry," I said.

The messenger's gaze rested on Merry then. "You are the _holbytla?_" he finally asked in the common tongue, his speech smooth but slightly accented. "Meriadoc?"

"I am," Merry replied.

"I have a message for you as well," he said. "I am to tell you that Frodo, Samwise and Peregrin are alive…"

"Oh, thank goodness!" Merry exclaimed.

The messenger seemed amused at the hobbit for a moment, then his face grew more serious again. "But they are all injured and will be staying at Cair Andros while they recover. Gandalf says it would be best for you to come join them."

"Of course," Merry said, the anxiety apparent on his face once more. "When should I be ready to go?"

"In the morning," the Rider replied. He then looked over at me and added, "And Lord Éomer requests that you come as well."

I bowed my head, and he took this as an affirmation. "With your leave, my lady," he said, bowing once more, then departing.

Merry looked up at me. "I suppose I had better start packing," he said.

"As should I," I replied. We entered the Houses together, climbing the stairs up to the hallway where our rooms were. After saying goodbye to Merry for the moment, I walked into the room and opened the door to the wardrobe, pulling out my white dress and laying it on the chair. After a moment's hesitation, I then found a second dress that I thought might be good for traveling. As I began to pull the dress out, the back of my hand brushed against soft velvet. I let the dress fall back into place as I gingerly felt the embroidered neckline of the dark blue cloak, feeling guilty that I had forgotten to return it to Faramir.

I heard a quiet knock on the door and pulled my hand back as the door opened. Aredhel entered the room, bowing her head slightly. "Good afternoon, my lady," she said softly. "Mistress Ioreth has asked me to come pack your things for you."

"I can pack myself, but thank you," I replied politely.

"She does not wish you to overtax your arm before the journey, my lady," Aredhel admitted, her cheeks flushing a bit.

I opened my mouth to argue, but then decided there was no reason to take it out on the young woman. Besides, I reasoned, I would be gone the next day, and the incessant coddling from the healers would cease. "Very well," I said, reaching for my cloak. "I'll be in the gardens then." A surprised look crossed Aredhel's face, as if she had expected an argument, but she nodded her head and helped me clasp my cloak around my neck.

Twilight was rapidly falling, though the garden was still well-lit by the light from the nearly-full moon, as I entered the gardens once more. Feeling restless, I began wandering aimlessly around the garden to try to calm my growing apprehensions. It made no sense; all I had wanted since I had first come to Gondor was to leave the Houses of Healing, and now I had my opportunity. And I would not truly be able to rest until I could see my brother and know for certain that he was safe. But I could not be certain of how he would receive me, after the argument we'd had. And, I suddenly realized, going to Cormallen would also mean I would have to face Aragorn again. How could I do that, knowing what a fool I had been? If I closed my eyes, I could still see that look of pity he had given me as he had walked away; I could not bear to see that again, nor did I wish him to think ill of me.

"Good evening, Éowyn," I heard behind me, and turned to see Faramir standing in the doorway.

"Faramir! What are you doing here? I thought you had work to do," I said, genuinely surprised to see him so soon.

"I did. I mean, I do. But I heard that you and Merry were leaving Minas Tirith tomorrow," he explained, pushing his hair away from his face.

"Oh," I said. "Merry's still in the Houses, but…"

"That's all right," he interrupted, his eyes looking nearly silver in the reflected moonlight. "I'm sure he'll be down in a bit. May I walk with you?"

"Of course," I said, and he fell into step beside me. Neither of us spoke for awhile; it reminded me of the first few days I had been allowed out of my room after the battle. I glanced over at Faramir; he seemed rather deep in thought, as if he was unsure what to say, so I remained silent as well.

I reached up and touched the silver horsehead clasped at my throat thoughtfully. Faramir noticed the gesture and asked, "Is something troubling you?"

"It's nothing; just a little nervous, I suppose," I quickly replied. His eyes softened a bit, and he looked as if he were about to speak again, when Merry burst into the gardens.

"_There_ you are! Ioreth said you were here," he blurted out, then stopped in mid-stride. "Am I interrupting anything?"

"No," he replied at the same time that I said, "No, of course not." We looked at each other for a moment, then Faramir continued, "It's good to see you again, Merry." He and the hobbit began talking, and I stood by silently for awhile and half-listened. It was strange to think that, since all I had wanted to do since I arrived at the Houses of Healing was to leave them, I would miss anything about this place. But I realized that I would truly miss the odd fellowship that I had shared with Faramir and Merry. And, as I watched them, it suddenly hit me how much I would miss Faramir's company when I went to Cair Andros; even though Merry would be there, I knew, it just wouldn't be the same. I couldn't help wondering if I was truly doing the right thing after all.

My doubts grew stronger as the evening wore on. Sleep did not bring me any answers, and when Mithríel came to help me dress in the plain brown linen dress I had decided on for the journey, I still had not come to any decision. So I stared out the window, wishing I knew what to do, torn between my desire to see my brother and my fear of what I would find when I arrived.

I jumped when I heard a knock on the door, but did not reply when Ioreth said that Merry was waiting for me downstairs. I listened as the footsteps retreated down the hall, then a few minutes later returned. A heavier knock sounded on the door. "Éowyn?" I heard Faramir's voice on the other side of the door. "Are you all right?" I looked back towards the window, unsure how to answer. There was a pause, and then he asked, "May I come in?"

"You may," I finally answered without turning back again. I heard him open the door and could sense him coming closer, moving to stand beside me. Still neither of us spoke, until he finally asked, "Is something wrong?"

I looked out of the window for a long moment, finally whispering, "I can't do this."

"Why not?" he asked. I thought for a moment, but couldn't come up with a clear answer, so I remained silent. "Éowyn?" Faramir tried again.

I shook my head, unable to look at him. "Please don't ask me to explain." How could I, when I could not even explain it to myself?

Faramir remained silent for a long moment, deep in thought. Finally, he said softly, "You don't have to go if you're not ready. I'll speak to the Warden; I'm certain they'll let you stay here."

"Thank you," I whispered as I glanced up at him, feeling strangely relieved. Faramir nodded, then turned and left. I turned back to the window, looking out silently until I felt a slight pressure on my hand. I jumped and bit back a gasp, then looked down to see Merry looking up at me. "Don't _do _that!" I exclaimed. Merry's face fell further, and I took a shaky breath. "Forgive me, Merry. I was just startled," I apologized, sitting down on the floor.

"I didn't mean to scare you," he said, sitting down next to me. "Faramir said you're not going to Cormallen."

"No, Merry, I'm not," I said with a sigh.

"Why not?" he asked, looking rather forlorn.

I shook my head. "I don't know how to explain it, Merry. I just…can't."

"Is it because Faramir's not going?" he asked innocently.

"What?" My head jerked up. "No, he has nothing to do with it! It's just… I don't know...." I took a ragged breath, wondering why such a simple question would leave me so shaken.

Merry nodded, then looked down. "I'm going to miss you," he finally replied.

"Oh, Merry, I'll miss you too." I gave him a sad smile.

We both looked up as Faramir re-entered the room. "Daeron says you are welcome to stay as long as you wish," he said.

"Thank you, Faramir," I said. His eyes softened as he looked down at me and nodded. For a moment, I held my breath, wondering how much of my conversation with Merry he had heard. _But he really has nothing to do with it!_ I mentally protested. Still… I didn't want to hurt him. But he said nothing about it, and I finally relaxed a little.

"Are you ready to go, Merry?" Faramir asked, turning to the hobbit. Merry looked at me sadly, then nodded.

"Wait… I'll go with you to the gate, Merry." Merry brightened up a tiny bit at that, and jumped up. Faramir reached out a hand and helped me to my feet, and the three of us headed down the stairs. Merry grabbed his pack, and Faramir also paused to sling a well-worn saddlebag over his uninjured shoulder, then we left the Houses.

None of us spoke a word as we slowly made our way down through the levels of the city. I was too concerned with wondering if I had made the right choice to notice my surroundings, save that most of the buildings in the city seemed to be constructed from the same white stone I had seen everywhere. Merry trudged along beside me, looking both sad and anxious, while Faramir seemed lost in his own thoughts. Occasionally he glanced over at me thoughtfully, as I carefully avoided catching his eye.

Finally, we reached the first level. A path had been cleared to the gap in the wall where the gate should have been, but I could see the piles of charred rubble everywhere where stone buildings had once stood. Just outside of the gate, big wooden wagons stood hitched to sturdy plowhorses, piled high with supplies to bring to the soldiers. The wain drivers milled around, along with the messenger I recognized from the day before. Merry looked at them uncertainly, letting his pack slip off his shoulder to the ground, then looked back up at Faramir and I.

Faramir knelt down and clasped his hand; though his hand was not exceptionally large, it completely enveloped the Halfling's. "It has been an honor to know you, Meriadoc Brandybuck," he said. "I will look forward to seeing you again when you return to Minas Tirith. And send my greetings to Frodo, Sam and Pippin." He paused, then added, "I'm sure they will be fine, Merry."

"Thank you, Faramir," Merry said, giving him a sad smile. "I hope so."

I knelt down too. "Have a safe journey, Merry," I said softly, unable to keep the unhappiness out of my voice. The hobbit had been my near-constant companion since Dunharrow, and I truly would miss him.

Merry looked at me for a moment, deep sadness in his brown eyes, then abruptly hugged me. I returned the hug just as hard. "Merry, if you see Éomer, tell him…" I hesitated, searching for the words. "Tell him I'm sorry," I lamely finished. Éomer would understand what I meant. At least, I hoped he would.

Merry nodded. "I will." He stepped back, glancing up at Faramir again with an almost imploring look on his face. Faramir nodded almost imperceptibly, and Merry's eyes turned back to me. "Goodbye, Éowyn."

"Westu hál, Merry," I whispered past the lump in my throat. No, I would not weep. Not in front of everyone like this. I straightened up, and he picked up his pack, smiling at us bravely even though I could see anxiety clearly written on his face.

"It's a pity…I should have told Bergil to keep you out of trouble till I get back," he said to me. A smile twitched at the corner of my mouth, followed by another wave of sadness.

Faramir seemed to sense my dark mood; his hand lightly squeezed mine for a moment, then released it. Though I didn't look at him, I was still comforted a little by the gesture. Finally, he quietly offered, "Éowyn, are you certain about this? If you've changed your mind, I can send someone back up for your things."

I looked down and shook my head. "That won't be necessary," I said, "but thank you." _Besides, I can't face him yet,_ I silently added, unsure whether I was talking about Éomer or Aragorn.

Merry walked through the gate to speak with the Rider who had come to us yesterday. The man directed him towards one of the wagons, and he slung his pack onto it before climbing up. After he was seated, he looked back towards the gate as the drivers climbed onto the wagons and began to drive them out. Merry raised his hand in a final gesture of farewell, then reluctantly turned as the wagons went further away. Faramir and I continued to watch silently until Merry had completely disappeared from sight.

* * *

_A/N: Well, here's the promised update, and I apologize for leaving it at a bit of a downer for the holidays! But the next chapter should be up soon, hopefully. And I hope that all of you have a wonderful Christmas, or whatever holiday you choose to celebrate. :)_

_Just a couple replies..._

_**Antisocial mint-** Ok, glad that cleared things up. And I'm glad you liked the ceremony--I worked really hard on that!_

_**Daughter of Kings-** Not a huge Arwen fan, actually. Éowyn's just so much cooler, and I really wasn't happy that PJ hyped up the Arwen/Aragorn/Éowyn triangle so much. Especially since that means Faramir really got the short end of it in the movies. And Éowyn too, for that matter..._

_**Carrie**- don't feel like you've been a bad reviewer, I know it's been a busy time for everyone. And I haven't been so great about reviewing your stuff lately either (slaps hand- bad smor!) And Bergil was really fun to write in that last chapter, so I'm glad you liked it. And I'd say it's still worth watching the EE...just don't go into it expecting a whole lot, especially when it comes to resolving the Aragorn/Éowyn/Faramir triangle. (If nothing else, it should inspire some interesting fanfiction over at faramirfics. ;)_

_**Rebby**- well, here's another Christmas present then. :)Thanks, andI hope you have a merry Christmas too!_


	21. Chapter 21: A Brief Escape

**Chapter 21- A Brief Escape**

After the last of the wagons had gone too far away to see them clearly, I shifted my weight awkwardly. "I suppose I should go back," I said reluctantly. "I know you have a lot of work to do; I do not wish to keep you from it."

Faramir glanced down and pushed his hair away from his face. "Actually, I was wondering if perhaps you could help me with something..."

"What is it?" I asked.

"I need to buy a horse. I lost mine during…on the way back…" his voice trailed off as a shadow crossed his face; he still did not want to talk about the retreat, apparently.

"And you were wondering if I wanted to help you look for one?" I finished hopefully.

His eyes cleared and he gave me a half-smile. "Yes. I thought that perhaps a lady of the Rohirrim might be a better judge than I."

I smiled, a genuine one this time; it _would_ be good to be around horses again. And the prospect of spending some time outside of the Houses of Healing again lightened my spirits considerably. "Then, my lord Steward, I will do my best to assist you in this task." He politely offered me his arm and began to lead me through the crowded streets. "Where are the stables?" I asked as we walked.

"The third level," he said. "The largest stables were on the first level, but since part of the stables collapsed in the fires, the remaining horses were moved to the higher levels until they can be rebuilt."

"Do you know if any of my people's horses are there too?" I asked. Faramir's brow furrowed slightly, and I glanced down. "I know that it is a ridiculous question, but I would like to find my horse if I can. I am almost certain he was brought here after the battle, but..." my voice trailed off.

"If your horse is here, we will find him," Faramir promised. I smiled, feeling a little better.

As we walked, I heard many of the people who remained in the city shout out greetings to Faramir, along with cries of gladness that he was returning to health. He seemed rather embarrassed by all of the attention, but bore it with a smile. He also seemed to be very intent on his surroundings, as if he were mentally taking notes. As I glanced around me, I saw a great deal of damage; entire rows of buildings had been smashed or burned in the siege. Faramir saw me look around, and explained, "This level is mostly shops. But a lot of homes on the second level were destroyed. There is so much that needs to be done." I could almost see the weight of responsibility falling on his shoulders again, and squeezed his arm lightly in reply.

We finally reached the stables on the third level—not soon enough for me, as I was becoming painfully aware of the strange glances I was receiving from the townspeople, particularly some of the women. Faramir noticed my discomfort and asked, "Is something wrong?"

"Why is everyone looking at me so strangely?" I asked.

"Perhaps they are merely struck speechless by your beauty, my lady," Faramir said with a soft smile.

I was grateful for the shadows as we entered the warmth of the low stone building, since they hid my burning cheeks. "I wish you would not tease me so, Faramir," I said softly, forcing myself to take a deep breath as I released his arm and pulled my other arm out of the sling, stuffing the offending piece of linen underneath a nearby bale of hay. The familiar smell of horses, hay and leather calmed me, and I quickly changed the subject. "What kind of horse are you looking for?"

"I'm not certain, to be honest," he answered.

I was about to reply, when a sharp whinny caught my ear. I hurried towards the end of the row of stables, smiling in recognition when the stallion's head poked over the door of the stall. An old man who was mucking out a nearby stall looked up, eyes wide in horror. "Don't, my lady! That horse has gone completely wild! He will not let anyone near him since they brought him in after the battle."

Faramir looked over, alarmed. "Éowyn," he said.

"Do not worry about me, Faramir," I replied with a laugh, rubbing the stallion's sleek grey nose affectionately. "He is my horse." Windfola responded by butting his head into my chest, and I began speaking to him softly in my native tongue.

Faramir was clearly relieved as he walked over. "A fine animal," he said admiringly. "What is his name?"

"Windfola," I said. "He was a gift from my uncle, long ago. I could not ask for a better horse." Windfola kept nudging at me, and I finally laughed. "No, I do not have any food for you! You have done nothing but lounge around your stall and eat all day for too long as it is."

"Would this help you win back his favor?" I looked back to see an apple, slightly wrinkled from being stored through the winter, in Faramir's hand as he pulled it out of the saddlebag that he had slung over his uninjured shoulder.

I raised my eyebrows, impressed. "Very well-prepared of you," I said.

He grinned in response. "I thought I might have to bribe one of these fine steeds to allow me to ride him," he answered, proceeding to pull out a knife and cut the apple into several pieces.

"And how will you win over the horse now if I take your bait?" I teased.

"I have more apples," Faramir replied with a smile. He placed about half of the apple pieces in my hand; his fingers lightly brushed mine as he pulled away, and though I quickly glanced up at him, he did not seem to notice that anything had happened. Windfola whickered at the sight of the treat, and I turned away, grateful for the distraction. I let my hair fall in such a way that it blocked off my peripheral vision and hid my slightly reddened face as I began to feed the apple pieces to Windfola. He quickly devoured them, then began nosing around for more. I laughed. "He knows we are holding out on him," I said, glancing over at Faramir.

"That will have to be remedied then," he replied, smiling as he moved to give me the rest of the apple pieces.

"Would you like to feed him some?" I asked as I took a few more.

"I could try," Faramir said. I smiled as he tentatively stretched his palm forward.

"You seem nervous," I teased.

"I am not certain that a horse of Rohan would tolerate a man of the South," he said, only half-jesting.

"What, you have never ridden one?" I asked, surprised. He shook his head. "That will also have to be remedied then." I then turned to Windfola and said softly in Rohirric, "Windfola, this is Faramir. He is my friend, so behave yourself." An amused look flashed over Faramir's face, and was gone so quickly that I thought I had imagined it. Windfola stretched his neck forward, nosed at the apple pieces, then began eating them. Faramir rubbed his nose, and Windfola snorted. "I think you have made a new friend," I said with a grin, quickly feeding him the remainder of the apple. "I will come back, I promise," I whispered to the horse before brushing my juice-covered hands off on the front of my dress and turning to Faramir again.

"Do you know if there are any more of my peoples' horses here?" I asked.

"No, but I can find out," he said, and went over to speak to the old stablehand. I stayed with Windfola while I waited for him, and a few minutes later he returned and reported, "After the battle, the Rohirrim rounded up as many of the riderless horses as they could find, and had them brought here. They took most of the horses into the battle, but they did leave some behind—mostly ones that were injured enough for them to not want to risk riding them into battle, but not so much that they would not recover. The men here are having trouble managing them—they say the horses have all gone wild—so most of them are in a paddock in the back. The only reason Windfola was stabled inside was because Lord Éomer insisted that particular care be taken with your horse."

I felt a guilty pang as I thought of my brother, and glanced down for a moment, biting my lip. "Let us go then."

As we walked out back, I explained to him, "In my country, there is a special bond between a horse and a Rider. They are not just beasts to us—they are part of the family. It is not uncommon for a horse whose master has fallen to go wild and not allow anyone to touch him. Eventually, most of them will accept a new Rider, but some never recover."

"Then why are you taking me to find one from there?" he asked.

"If you can win over my horse, I think you can manage. You are the first person outside of my family that he has allowed to touch him. Except for Merry, of course," I quickly added, frowning slightly. My sadness over missing the Halfling quickly dissipated as I saw the large paddock in the back of the stable, filled with horses of all colors. I hurried over, and Faramir joined me by the fence a moment later. I leaned my elbow on the fence and rested my chin in my hand as I quietly watched the horses. Finally I asked, "Do you see any you like?"

"What do you think about that one over there?" he asked me, pointing towards the left side of the paddock. There were two horses standing there, a bay gelding and a chestnut stallion.

"The bay?" I asked.

"No, the chestnut," he replied.

I looked at the horse a little more critically. He was a little on the small side for a stallion, but had a good build to him. As if he was aware we were watching him, the stallion snorted and tossed his head wildly. A lopsided white streak ran down his nose, and I could see the thin line of a fresh scar on his front right shoulder, which I assumed was from the battle. "He looks very spirited," I finally said, "though I am a little concerned about that shoulder. How well can you ride?" I asked, suddenly wondering if Faramir would be able to handle such an obviously spirited horse.

"Well enough, I suppose," Faramir answered. "Although, you do have a point about that shoulder." He signaled to one of the nearby groomsmen; after the man came over, he asked, "Forgive me if I was interrupting anything. That horse over there—I noticed he seems to have been injured recently. Is it serious?"

"No, my lord. The cut was not very deep at all, and he seems to have completely healed since then," the man said, running a hand through his dark hair, which was heavily streaked with grey.

"I would like to have a look at him, if it is not too much trouble," Faramir said politely.

"Are you certain, my lord? Injury or not, he is one of the wildest beasts those horse-lords brought in, in my opinion." He glanced over at me as if noticing my presence for the first time, his face paling slightly as he saw my golden hair. I merely raised an eyebrow at him as he quickly added, "Begging your pardon, my lady, I meant no offense to your people."

"None taken," I replied, trying to keep my tone cool in spite of the laugh that threatened to bubble up.

"I am certain, sir," Faramir said, giving me an amused look when the man turned to enter the paddock. "I think you frightened him half out of his wits," he whispered, and this time I did laugh, quickly covering my mouth with my hand in an attempt to muffle it as I looked back towards the horses.

The man seemed to be having a bit of trouble with the horse, who kept shying away. "Stubborn beast…" I could hear him grumbling as he fought to put a halter over the stallion's head to lead him out of the paddock.

"Excuse me…what is your name?" Faramir asked.

"Beleg, my lord," the man said, glaring at the chestnut, who tossed his head contemptuously as he reared up.

"Beleg, may I try?" Faramir finished.

I looked up at him, suddenly nervous, as I did not want to see him get hurt. "Are you sure, Faramir? There are plenty of other horses there."

"Do not worry, Éowyn. If I am to ride him, he will have to get used to me at some point, right?" he pointed out, giving me an endearing smile as he went to the paddock gate.

Beleg handed him the halter and lead rope, looking a little relieved, then came over to me and bowed his head. "Do not fret over him, my lady. Lord Faramir has always had a way with horses." I shook my head, then watched as Faramir walked over towards the stallion.

The chestnut snorted and shied away from him. Faramir began speaking to it calmly, though the words were too low for me to hear. The horse once again snorted, pawing at the ground, but Faramir kept calmly speaking to him. It reminded me somewhat of the way I had seen horse trainers of my own people soothe a nervous horse. Eventually, the horse calmed down enough for Faramir to slide the halter over his head, though he kept tossing his head somewhat as Faramir led him to the gate, still speaking to him softly. Beleg went over and opened the gate for him as I stared at him in disbelief.

"He seems to be walking fine," Faramir said.

"What did you do?" I asked. "I did not know that men of the South could tame a horse so easily."

"I didn't tame him," Faramir said with a shrug. "Truthfully, it is a technique I learned from watching the men of your people, long ago. Some horses were brought here from Rohan as part of a trade agreement, and the men who delivered the horses calmed them in such a manner." I nodded, still surprised as he asked, "Could you hold the rope for a moment?" I took the lead rope from him, speaking to the horse softly to keep him calm as Faramir ran his hand along the injured shoulder, then began checking him over for any other problems. The stallion snorted and stamped a hoof from time to time, as if to remind me that he had not lost his spirit completely, but it did not seem to bother Faramir. He finally straightened and turned to me. "Now that you have seen him closer, what do you think?"

"I think he is a very fine horse. He has a fiery spirit; I like that," I said, rubbing the stallion's neck after Faramir took the lead rope back. _And he certainly seems to know what he is doing, I'll give him that,_ I silently added.

"I think I will take this one, Beleg," Faramir called back.

"What, without riding him?" I asked, horrified.

"You said yourself he was a fine horse," Faramir argued.

"No man of my people in his right mind would think of purchasing a horse without riding him!" I protested. "How else would you know if the horse is right for you?"

"My lord," Beleg timidly spoke up, "if you wish to ride him first, that can be arranged." I flashed him a smile, grateful for his aid.

Faramir considered this a moment, then turned to me. "I do not wish leave you here by yourself," he said, a somewhat guilty look on his face.

"Then I will go with you," I replied with a smile.

"But your arm…" he started to protest. I raised my hand to silence him.

"I will be fine, really. Please reconsider, Faramir," I said, not even caring that I sounded close to begging. My eagerness to get back on a horse and out of the city was too strong.

His face relaxed into a smile. "It would be nice to have some company," he finally admitted. "But if Ioreth finds out, she'll have my head, Steward or not."

"Thank you!" I cried, impulsively hugging him, then quickly stepping back once I realized what I was doing, my face growing hot. "Forgive me—I should not have…"

Faramir ducked his head briefly, his face also reddening slightly, then said, "It's fine," giving me a reassuring smile. "Come on—I do have to get some work done today, but if we leave soon we could get a decent ride in."

-------

"I do not _care_ if proper ladies of Gondor only ride side-saddle! I am not of Gondor, and undoubtedly, no one of your city would accuse me of being a _proper_ lady," I growled at the stablehand who had been asked to tack up Windfola for me. I had reluctantly been forced to admit that my broken arm still lacked the strength to allow me to perform the task myself.

"But, my lady," the grey-haired man protested.

Faramir re-entered the stable; he had left the chestnut outside while he saddled him. "What is the matter?" he asked.

"I cannot ride with that…_thing_… on my horse's back!" I exclaimed, gesturing contemptuously towards the side-saddle.

An amused twinkle lit up Faramir's eyes as he said to the man, "Sir, if you would give the lady a different saddle, it would be greatly appreciated."

He sighed reluctantly. "As you wish. Do you have any particular saddle in mind, my lady?"

"Was there tack on the horse when he was brought in?" I asked.

"Aye, there was." The man left for a moment, then returned with my familiar-looking saddle. "Is this the one you wish to use?"

"It is, thank you," I said, satisfied. As he went to exchange saddles, I turned to Faramir and asked, "Don't any of the women of your people know how to ride?"

"Not with a regular saddle. If they ride at all, they ride side-saddle. The only exception I have ever known is my cousin, Lothíriel. My uncle and cousins taught her to ride in a traditional saddle, and now she refuses to use anything else," he admitted, smiling fondly. "You would like her, I think."

"I like her already," I declared. Faramir grinned at that as the man led Windfola out of the stall.

"Is this more to your liking, my lady?" he asked, sounding slightly exasperated.

"Much more so. Thank you, sir," I said politely, trying to make up for my earlier belligerence. He handed me the reins, bowed and departed, and Faramir followed as I led Windfola out of the stables.

One of the stablehands fetched a sturdy wooden box, to allow me to mount without assistance in spite of my arm. As I mounted Windfola, I suddenly realized that my outfit was going to cause a bit of difficulty. I was used to riding in breeches or divided skirts, and while the skirt of the brown linen dress I wore was rather full, it still took me longer than I wished to arrange the fabric in order for me to sit comfortably and still cover most of my legs. As it was, I could still see the tops of my boots peeking out from under the coarse fabric, and tugged self-consciously at the hem of the skirt.

"Are you ready?" Faramir asked, walking the chestnut over to stand beside Windfola. I nodded, and he nudged the horse into a walk. I followed him through the streets once more to the large gap in the walls where the gate had once stood.

"Where do you want to go?" I asked, looking over the fields around the city and feeling suddenly rather reluctant to travel those paths again so soon.

He looked around for a moment, then decided, "Perhaps that way, towards the river," he said, pointing a little south-east. The field looked as if it had been mostly cleared there, and I nodded my assent.

Faramir kept the horse to a walk, and I was content to stay back with him at first. But although I had never ridden with a half-healed broken arm before, it did not take me long to adjust, and so I quickly grew tired of the slow pace. Windfola also grew restless, prancing and pulling at the bit. "I know exactly how you feel," I whispered to him, then looked back at Faramir, smiling mischievously. "I think that it is time to see what that horse is capable of," I called back to him, spurring the stallion into a run.

I heard a choked sound behind me, as if Faramir could not decide whether to laugh or call out in protest. "Very well," he called out, finally laughing. "I'll see you at the river." I glanced back to find that the chestnut was quickly catching up. I smiled to myself. _Good_, I thought, glad that he wasn't going to just let me win.

"How far do you want to go?" I shouted, nudging Windfola to make him go slightly faster.

"Perhaps that tree over there? That will give us enough time to slow the horses before they run into the Anduin," he called ahead, gesturing with one hand.

"That sounds good," I shouted back, giving Windfola a little more rein as I bent low over his neck. I couldn't help laughing as I rode, enjoying the feel of the wind rushing past my face and feeling freer than I had in a long time. I finally took the chance of looking back, and saw Faramir's horse inching up towards mine. "_Aernan_, Windfola!" I called out, and Windfola strained at the bit as he stretched his neck out, but the chestnut was still gaining.

"You look like you are enjoying this," Faramir shouted, smiling as he pulled ahead momentarily.

I grinned back at him. "The women of your people do not realize what they are missing." With that, I nudged Windfola slightly faster so that I was riding neck-and-neck with him. I became fully focused on the race after that, losing myself in the rhythm of my horse's pounding hoofs, but I still could not pull ahead of Faramir's horse, nor was he able to gain any more ground.

We passed the appointed place at the same time, and I turned Windfola away from the river as I gradually slowed him down, laughing breathlessly. Faramir did the same, and finally trotted the horse over towards me with a smile on his face. "You ride well, for a man of Gondor," I teased.

"A high compliment, coming from a Rider of the Mark," he retorted, rubbing the chestnut stallion's glossy neck affectionately. "Though I think the credit belongs to him." The horse snorted and tossed his head proudly, as if in agreement.

"Do not tell him that. You will make him so proud that he will never listen to you again," I said with a laugh, smiling at Faramir as I turned Windfola around. As I did, I caught a glimpse of the White City, towering over the field and shining in the sun. Though I could still see signs of the damage from here, it was still a magnificent sight.

"Should we give them a chance to cool down?" Faramir asked, snapping me from my reverie.

"That sounds good," I replied. Faramir quickly descended from his horse, and I carefully started to swing my leg back over the saddle, trying to figure out a way to dismount that wouldn't put too much strain on my arm, but my skirt got tangled over the pommel. "What I would not give for a _real_ riding skirt right now…" I muttered under my breath as I attempted to disentangle myself, then added so Faramir could hear, "On second thought, I think I would prefer to keep riding."

Faramir appeared at my side, trying rather unsuccessfully to hide his amusement. "May I be of assistance, my lady?" he asked, his eyes sparkling.

"What about your shoulder?" I asked, still feeling embarrassed over the situation, and not wishing to cause him to re-injure himself.

"It's fine," he assured me as I finally managed to disentangle my skirt. "It has not pained me in several days." I finally nodded my assent, resting my hand on his shoulder as lightly as I could, as he lifted me free from the saddle by my waist. As he did so, Windfola moved slightly, sending me practically falling into his arms with a cry of alarm as my arm slid around his neck, my other arm slamming against his chest. The sudden movement made him lose his balance a bit, and he stumbled backwards as he tried to regain his footing, his arms tightening around my waist. Then my feet were touching the ground lightly, my skirt swirling around my legs as it settled back into place. I couldn't keep myself from laughing, as much from relief as from exhilaration, as I looked up at him.

I could not help noticing that his eyes looked more blue than usual. Undoubtedly the color of his shirt, a deep blue much like the star-embroidered mantle he had lent me, brought it out. I marveled again at how they sometimes seemed to shift colors even as I looked at him; it reminded me of his description of the sea. And I was afraid of drowning in those blue-grey depths.

I suddenly realized just how close I was standing to him. My broken arm was still resting lightly against his chest, my other hand on his shoulder, and his face was only a breath away from mine. Faramir's smile faded a little, his gaze growing more intense, and I became all-too aware that his arms were still encircling my waist. "Éowyn," he murmured.

I couldn't look away. Nor, to my surprise, did I want to. _What is _wrong _with me?_ I desperately thought. "I…I should see to my horse," I stammered, dropping my hands and pulling away a little.

Instantly he released me and stepped back, looking startled. "Of course," he said. His face flushed slightly.

I mumbled a quick thank-you for his help, but it still took all my willpower to turn away and walk over to Windfola. After removing the bridle so he could graze, I began fumbling with the leather straps that would loosen the saddle's girth, determined to do it myself in spite of my arm. As I worked, I muttered, "You _better_ not have done that on purpose," to the grey stallion. Windfola just shook his mane out, blinking as if he were trying to give me an innocent look, then began grazing. I shook my head slightly and forced myself to take a deep breath, trying to sort through my muddled thoughts. There had been something too familiar about whatever it was that had just happened…

Then I remembered. The field, the city, even the color of the horse—I had seen it all before, in one of those dreams about Aragorn that never quite seemed to fit. _It is merely a coincidence,_ I firmly told myself. So what if it was Faramir instead of Aragorn? It meant nothing. At least I didn't think it did. But even if it was coincidence, it was a strange one.

_Stop it!_ I told myself sternly. I would not make the mistake of seeing something that wasn't there again; somehow, I knew that it would be much more painful to lose Faramir's friendship than it had to watch Aragorn walk away. _Faramir is just a friend. Nothing more. _I picketed Windfola, then turned back to Faramir and asked, "Is the horse to your liking?" Horses were a safe, neutral topic.

"Very much so. That was the most enjoyable ride I have had in quite some time," he said, smiling as he finished picketing his horse. _He looks much more handsome when he smiles, _I mused in spite of my sudden annoyance that he had managed to compose himself so quickly while I still felt so flustered by…whatever had just happened. Then I started silently lecturing myself again for even entertaining thoughts about his smile. Even as I did, the smile faded as he added, "Of course, it is the first ride I've been able to take for pleasure in quite some time."

"It is for me as well," I confessed. "It has been a long time since it was safe to ride alone in Rohan, and after Grí…after my uncle fell ill, he could not spare me very often." I still couldn't bring myself to tell him about Wormtongue, although the thought briefly crossed my mind that perhaps Faramir would be able to understand, after what he had been through with his father. I decided to change the subject and asked, "Why do the women of your people not wish to ride?"

The amused look returned to his face as we walked towards the water. He sat down on the riverbank, and I sat down next to him as he said, "Perhaps some of them do, but I do know that among the nobility, at least, it is not considered proper for a woman to ride as a man would." I choked back a laugh, which Faramir must have thought was indignation, because his face sobered as he added, "I meant no offense—I know that is not the way of your people."

"I am not offended," I said, smiling. "So I suppose the 'proper' women of your people sit around and do embroidery all day."

Faramir laughed. "I'm afraid I'm not the greatest authority on such matters. It has been awhile since I have spent any significant amount of time in female company—yours excepted, of course." My face reddened a bit; growing up surrounded by warriors who were as brothers to me and often treated me as one of their own made it difficult for me to understand how anyone could see me as a woman. "I take it embroidery is not one of your favorite ways to pass the time," he added.

I wrinkled my nose in distaste, making him laugh again. "I can sew when I need to. And it has proved to be a useful skill, although I've probably had to sew up as many wounds as holes in my clothing. Éomer and Théodred insisted I was better at it then the men were, though I think they were just trying to tease me. But embroidery just seems like such a waste of time." I rolled my eyes and added, "I am certain that your people would consider me a barbarian for saying that, but…"

Faramir laughed. "Perhaps so, but whenever Boromir and I had to spend time among the noblewomen, I always found them rather dull." He looked as if he were going to continue, but paused, then asked, "Is it common for the women of your people to be trained in combat?"

"It's a tradition among the women of the royal family, though we are not expected to actually fight," I answered. "And it is not uncommon for women to be taught basic use of a sword. It is almost a necessity in some places, where the orcs frequently raid; if the men are out fighting and a village is attacked, the women are the only ones left to defend it." I looked down, smoothing out the wrinkles in my skirt with my hand as I continued, "We lived in a town about a two day's ride east of Edoras when I was a child. Besides being used as a base for my father's éored, Aldburg was one of the main places where horses were raised in the Eastfold. Just before my seventh year, our town was attacked. It was during foaling season, and most of the men were out in the fields with the mares. Mother grabbed a sword and sent Éomer and I down to the cellar and told us not to come out until she or my father came back for us. I could not see what was happening outside, but we could hear it…I know she was fighting alongside my father.

Sometime during the battle, she was wounded…it was no more than a scratch, and when the attackers were finally routed, there were others who were wounded much more badly, so she did not have it taken care of right away; she was too busy helping the others. It wasn't until she fell ill later that night that we knew the blade was poisoned." I closed my eyes for a moment, then finished, "We thought she was going to get better; she seemed to be growing stronger every day after her fever broke. But then my father was killed about a month later…the grief was too much for her in her weakened state. My uncle brought us to Edoras to live, hoping that the healers there could do something for her, but she just got worse…she died too, a few months later." It was all I could do to choke back a sob, and I let my head drop a little further. "I do not know why I am telling you all this," I said softly, feeling foolish.

Faramir stared out over the river, as if lost in thought. "I was five years old when my mother died," he finally said. "She was ill for almost as long as I can remember…the rumors around the Citadel said she was pining for the sea, that she wasted away shut up within the city walls. I can hardly even remember what she looked like, only that she was beautiful. Boromir always said her eyes looked like mine…" He idly picked up a twig and tossed it into the water, watching as the current carried it away. "After she died, Father withdrew completely. He had her rooms shut up and all her things taken away; he refused to even speak of her. Boromir was the one who gave me her cloak; he hid some of her things so we would have something to remember her by. She often read to me in the evenings…she would wrap that mantle around both of us to help her keep warm." A sad smile touched his lips at the memory. I bit my lip, remembering that I still had not yet returned the blue cloak like I had promised, and vowed that I would give it back to him before the end of the day.

We sat by the river for some time after that, each of us lost in our own grief for those we had lost. The sound of the water was soothing, as was watching the sunlight dance across the rippling surface. Though neither of us spoke, the silence was comfortable; he understood, I knew, and somehow that made the pain easier to bear.

"I should probably return to the city soon," Faramir finally said, looking over at me reluctantly.

I nodded. "By this time, the healers might think I decided to run away after all," I said, standing up and brushing my dress off. Faramir got to his feet, then walked over towards the horses. As he began tightening the girth on the saddle, I added, "Are you going to give him a name?"

"What?" He turned towards me, pushing his raven hair away from his eyes.

"The horse. If you are going to keep him, he needs a name."

"How do the Rohirrim name their horses?" he asked.

I rubbed Windfola's neck fondly. "Sometimes we name them at birth. Other times, we wait to see what kind of horse he or she is. My uncle named Windfola; we knew early on he would run fast—like the wind, he said." I smiled faintly.

The stallion snorted as he finished tightening the girth. "What about this one?" Faramir asked, walking over towards me as I struggled to tighten the girth on the saddle. "Do you need some help with that?"

"Yes," I reluctantly admitted, stepping back and allowing him to tighten it. "As for your horse…" I observed the chestnut, watching him toss his head proudly and prance around while Faramir finished checking Windfola's tack. Faramir would never be able to tame the horse completely, I realized; there was too much fire in him. "Wildfire," I finally said. "That is what I would call him."

Faramir looked over at the horse, then turned to me with a smile. "It suits him very well." I smiled back, feeling almost shy at the compliment as he handed me the reins and took Windfola off the picket line. Faramir went to get his horse, and I managed to pull myself into the saddle while his back was turned and took the opportunity to arrange my skirts while he was otherwise occupied. "_Cuman_, Wildfire," he said to the chestnut, patting his flank once he was mounted. Then he looked over at me, noticing my incredulous stare. "What is it?" he asked.

"You spoke Rohirric," I said in disbelief, quickly trying to remember if I had said anything potentially embarrassing in my native tongue around him.

Faramir shrugged nonchalantly. "Both my brother and I learned to speak it long ago, in case of any dealings with our Northern allies."

I just shook my head in wonder as we began our ride back to the city.

* * *

_A/N: Hope you enjoyed the reprieve from all the angstiness that's been going on in this story lately... I actually wrote this section several months ago while I was taking some riding lessons, and couldn't resist putting something horse-related in. :)_

_I'm basing Faramir's ability to handle horses on a comment that Beregond makes to Pippin in ROTK, saying Faramir "can master both beasts and men." Besides, I'm tired of fanfic depictions that make him out to be a terrible rider because he's not from Rohan. :P_

_Also, the information about Éowyn living in Aldburg comes from www . tuckborough. net._

_Rohirric words are from from http:home. comcast. net/modean52/oemedictionaries. htm , an Old English dictionary. I apologize to any of you Old English scholars out there if I butchered the grammar or anything._

_Aernan, Windfola! Run, Windfola!_

_Cuman Come_

* * *

_**Antisocial mint-** hope this chapter was a little cheerier. And I really didn't mean anything too deep by the "secretive nods" stuff... what I meant was to show Merry silently asking Faramir to look after her (and trying not to let her know about it)._

_**DaughterofKings**- Thanks! And guess what- I've finally gotten to see "Lost"! You were right.. it's a great show. I'm a bit behind, but since one of my friends had the foresight to tape several of the episodes, I've managed to see most of them. (Watching it while I type this up, actually. :)_

_**Miss Cam-** Thanks for the review! It's good to know what I still need to work on a bit, so thank you for pointing that out. So this means I get to stay out of OFUM, right? :)_

_**Raksha-** I agree completely. Since she never expected to live this long, she has no idea what to do with the rest of her life now. But hopefully she'll figure that out a little more clearly soon. ;)_

_**Name1-** Thanks for the review! And I hope this was quick enough. :D_

_**Lackwit-** It will probably be awhile before you read this, but wanted to go ahead and say this anyway. I'm glad you like how Éowyn is turning out. And her reasons for going to the battle was what got me started writing this in th first place. I also couldn't believe that it was solely because of Aragorn...I saw that more as the last straw. So I wanted to explore what would have pushed her to that point. And thank you also for the stylistic comment. I probably didn't catch them all, but I did work on at least minimizing the contractions in this chapter, so hopefully it flows a little better._

_**Tara6-** Wow, very high compliment. Thank you! And the comment about a grown man in Hobbiton really made me smile. _

_**Kazbels-** Good to know. And thanks!_

_**Go stick your head in a toilet**- thank you! And that has got to be one of the most fun screennames I've ever seen on here._

_**LilIrishFaerie**- Straight through? Wow, I feel sorry for you. That must have taken forever! But thank you for your kind comments. And you're right... I can't see how anyone can't love this couple either. :)_

_**Caroly**- Don't worry about the delay, I know the holidays are a crazy time. I'm glad you liked the ceremony. I thought it was one of those gaps that needed to get filled. (And don't get me started on the RotK:EE either... it makes me even more glad I decided to base this on the books. 45 seconds was just not enough to resolve the whole Aragorn/Éowyn tension by any means.) Good luck with your schoolwork too, and good luck with starting your story! Are you going to have the same screenname? I need to know what to look for. ;)_


	22. Chapter 22: Torn in Two

**Chapter 22- Torn in Two**

Our return journey was much slower; we alternated between keeping the horses at a fast walk and a slow trot, and spent most of the time talking about various misadventures with our brothers.

"…so Éomer, Éothain and Elfric decided to take the cask of ale into the stables, and set me as the guard when my brother realized that I would not leave," I said as we drew closer to the city. "They had just opened the cask when I saw that my uncle was walking near the stables, along with several of the lords of the Westfold who were taking counsel with him. When I ran back and told Éomer, they were unable to figure out how to close the cask again, and so he panicked. They poured the entire cask into an empty water trough just outside of the back of the stables, and no one noticed anything was amiss until later, when one of the lords went to get his horse and found that every single horse in the stableyard was intoxicated." Faramir unsuccessfully tried to stifle a laugh, and I grinned. "Éomer was mortified, of course. He was so relieved to learn that the horses would not suffer any permanent ill effects, but it was quite some time before he tried the ale again. And he, his friends and I had to muck out the stalls by ourselves for an entire week—I had to share in the punishment since I was the guard." I shook my head in mock annoyance, though I smiled at the memory.

Faramir laughed heartily. "It seems that he caused you a great deal of trouble as a child."

I gave him an innocent smile. "If I were to be honest, I would have to say that I got _him_ into trouble just as often." My smile faded as I added, "I hope that he will forgive me for not coming. He seemed so upset with me when he left."

"Then why did you decide to stay?" Faramir asked gently.

I shook my head. "I would rather not talk about it." _Especially since I still have no answer to give,_ I added silently.

"Very well," he replied. We fell silent as we rode through the gates of the city and up to the third level. With the aid of the mounting block, I was able to dismount by myself this time while Faramir spoke with Beleg again, saying he would be back later to make all the arrangements for purchasing Wildfire. "May I walk you back to the Houses?" he asked, turning to me once more.

"Of course." He politely offered his arm, and we began the walk back up to the sixth level. I quickly grew weary of the silence, and asked him, "What will you be doing now?"

"I hardly know where to begin," he said. "Rebuilding is a priority, of course, especially for the people who lost their homes in the siege. We have set up some temporary shelters, but I am hoping to get something a little more organized set up soon in order for meals to be distributed to those who need them. I also need to have some tallies of the damage before Lord Aragorn comes to the city. And then I must research all of the traditions for the actual coronation…" he sighed. "Needless to say, I do not think that I will be lacking for ways to keep myself occupied anytime soon. I cannot help but wonder if I am fit for this task."

"But you have been a captain of Gondor for some time now, have you not?" I replied. He nodded silently. "Then you are accustomed to leading men. And I do not doubt that you would only do what you deem best for your people. I think you underestimate yourself, Faramir. You are not a fool, and I know that you can do this."

He looked surprised, but grateful for my confidence in him. "Thank you," he finally said.

The Houses of Healing came into view, and I slowed my steps a bit, suddenly reluctant for this time to end. "I enjoyed the ride a great deal, Faramir. Thank you for letting me go with you."

"I should thank you for convincing me, my lady," he replied with a smile. "I would not have enjoyed it nearly as much without your company." He paused thoughtfully, then added, "It was good to see you smile, Éowyn."

My face colored slightly, and I could not think of a response. I was saved from answering, however, when we reached the door to the Houses. Faramir opened the door and allowed me to enter first, and I quickly found myself face-to-face with Mithríel.

"_There_ you are!" she exclaimed. She looked me up and down, smiling knowingly as she glanced at my dress; despite my best efforts, I had not been able to fully smooth out the wrinkles nor remove all the horsehair. "Did you enjoy your ride?"

Faramir and I looked at each other, a little embarrassed. "How did you know?" I finally answered, suddenly fully aware that I must smell like a stable.

She grinned in response. "Bergil saw you two ride out from the walls. Fortunately for you both, he had the good sense to tell me when neither Ioreth nor Daeron were in earshot. Perhaps you might also enjoy a hot bath, my lady. I can make sure that dress is cleaned, and neither of them will be the wiser. Especially Ioreth," she said, winking at Faramir.

"Oh, thank you, Mithríel!" I exclaimed, feeling relieved. She curtsied quickly and left, with a conspiratorial smile on her face.

Once Mithríel had left the room, Faramir turned towards me again with a grin on his face. "I am glad that she is willing to keep her silence. Ioreth is much more formidable a foe than she appears, and if she knew that I allowed you on a horse with a broken arm…" his voice trailed off as I laughed, then his smile faded a bit as his gaze grew more intense. "Éowyn…"

"I nearly forgot! Wait here, I will return shortly," I interrupted. I barely caught his confused look before hurrying up the stairs to my room. Mithríel had already had a wooden tub brought in, and was setting up a screen for privacy.

"Lady Éowyn? Are you ready so soon?" she asked, looking a little surprised.

"Not yet, Mithríel," I said, opening the wardrobe to find that my things had already been put away again. As I pulled out the blue mantle, I let my fingers brush over the star-embroidered velvet for a moment, suddenly reluctant to give it up. _No,_ I firmly told myself. _You have no right to keep this._ With my mind firmly made up, I went back down the stairs.

When Faramir saw what I was holding, he looked surprised. I thought I also saw a trace of hurt in his eyes, but he smoothed his expression so quickly that I could not be certain if I had only imagined it. "Forgive me, Faramir…I meant to return this before," I said, "but I forgot. I apologize if I took advantage of your kindness in letting me borrow it."

"You did not," he quickly reassured me. "If you still have need of it…"

I shook my head, laying it in his arms. "I cannot keep something that means so much to you, but I am grateful that you let me use it." He looked down at the cloak silently. "I am sorry for interrupting before. What were you going to say?" I asked.

He looked up again, an unreadable expression on his face. "Nothing important." He paused, then added, "I should go."

"I know you have work to do, Faramir," I said, trying to look nonchalant in spite of the sudden knot in my stomach. "Forget about me; I will be fine."

"I could never do that," he said without looking at me, so softly that I could barely hear him. But when he looked up again, his eyes were clear, though his expression was a little sad. "Farewell, Éowyn." With that, he bowed and turned away.

"Farewell," I echoed, confused. I knew that I had hurt him somehow, but could not figure out what I had done. My heart sank as I watched him walk away from the Houses. Part of me wanted to run after him to keep him from leaving, though I could think of no reason to ask him to stay. But still, I could not bear to watch him go, so I turned away and retreated up the stairs. And so I never saw him stop to look back, nor the dejected slump of his shoulders when he realized that I was gone.

-

Had I known how lonely the life of a patient in the Houses of Healing could be, I might have chosen differently. There were still enough men recovering from their battle wounds that remained under the healers' care to keep them busy, and so I was alone most of the time. It pained me to stay in the gardens, as my solitude there stood in sharp contrast to the companionship with Faramir and Merry that I had grown accustomed to; it was still better than being confined to my room, however. So I walked alone in the gardens, watching as the warmer spring days brought it back to life and wondering why I still felt so dead inside.

For the first few days, I held on to a tiny hope that perhaps Faramir might come back to visit. But I neither saw nor had any word from him, and though at first I could convince myself that his duties as Steward kept him too busy to come, as the days wore on I began to wonder if I truly had offended him, and therefore he no longer desired my company. The thought truly grieved me, but as I still did not understand what I had done and I had no opportunity to talk to him, I could think of no way to repair our friendship. And, despite the short time I had known him, the loss hit me harder than I would have expected it to.

In my solitude, my grief over losing Théoden and Théodred became increasingly difficult to bear, and as much as I dreaded meeting with Éomer, I missed him more as each day passed. My troubled thoughts kept me up late into the night, and when I did finally manage to rest, my nightmares were even worse than they had been before. The sleepless days and nights steadily wore on me, until a pounding headache became my near-constant companion. My appetite left me as well, and though I could feel my strength waning, I could do no more than pick at the food that was brought to me, nor could I rid myself of the dark mood that had settled so deeply upon me.

Five days passed in this manner, and late in the afternoon of the sixth, I was walking in the garden once more when Ioreth called to me from the doorway of the Houses. "My lady? You have a visitor."

The first thought that leaped into my mind was that perhaps Faramir had returned, and I could not help feeling disappointed when I caught a glimpse of the man's golden hair; my disappointment quickly turned into surprise, however, when I realized who the broad-shouldered, green-eyed man was. "Éothain?" I asked, dumbfounded.

He bowed, his wheat-colored hair falling into his eyes slightly, before straightening. "My lady," he said formally before flashing me the lopsided grin that was more typical of him.

I furrowed my brow slightly, still surprised. Though I had known Éothain for years—he had been one of my brother's closest friends since we moved to Edoras—he was one of the last people I would have expected to see in Minas Tirith. "What are you _doing_ here?"

Éothain's smile faded slightly as he studied my face. "Can a man not visit an old friend without raising questions?" he asked, attempting to keep his tone light.

"Do not toy with me, Éothain. Éomer sent you, did he not?"

"He did," Éothain finally answered, now completely serious. "He would have come himself, but his duty forbade him."

_I should have known that Éomer would not accept my answer_, I realized. To Éothain, I said, "Come, let us sit down and speak of this further," motioning over towards the trees where I had sat and talked with Faramir and Merry so often. Once we were both seated, I asked politely, "When did you arrive?"

"Perhaps an hour ago," Éothain answered. "It took some time to learn where you were staying, but I was finally able to locate Elfhelm; he and his men have returned from Anórien and are now camped within the first circle of the city. He was surprised to learn that you were still in Minas Tirith, but informed me that you were probably here."

I paused before answering. "I see. I was not aware that he was in the city."

Éothain replied, "He only arrived a few days ago, my lady."

I could think of no reply, and so I looked at my hands, resting in my lap, until Éothain asked, "How is your arm?"

"My arm is not yet fully recovered, but it is healing well enough," I answered. "It no longer pains me."

"That is good news," he answered, but his eyes looked troubled.

"Éothain?" I asked.

"If your arm is nearly healed, then why did you remain in this city?" he bluntly replied. "Éomer is quite worried about you, Éowyn. Why will you not go to him?"

I looked down again, vaguely noting that my hands were trembling. I had begun to doubt the wisdom of my decision to remain in Minas Tirith, and yet, though I longed to make amends with my brother, something within me yet resisted the thought of leaving this place. Closing my eyes, I tried to fight past my indecision, but my thoughts were too muddled.

"I can see that you are not well," Éothain finally said.

"I would only be a burden to him now." My voice sounded distant even to my own ears

"He will not see it that way," Éothain answered.

"I know, and yet I cannot go to him now. I have no wish for him to see me like this. Do you not understand?" I pleaded, looking up at him.

"What shall I tell your brother then, lady?" he asked.

I sat silently, looking out over the fields as I waited for an answer to come. Finally, I heard a voice behind me answer, "Tell him that the healers have not yet released her from their charge, my lord." I turned to see Mithríel standing behind us in the garden.

Éothain silently looked from her to me, trying to assess the situation, then finally stood and bowed. "Very well. I will take my leave then. If you change your mind, I will not be riding until mid-day. Goodnight, my lady." Then he turned and went back into the Houses.

I finally looked up, my grey eyes meeting Mithríel's green ones. "Thank you, Mithríel," I said softly.

"I only spoke the truth, my lady," she answered.

"Please, do _not_ call me that anymore," I groaned, completely fed up with the formality of the healers. "I have been here long enough that just my name should suffice."

"Pardon me, my la…Éowyn. I was just coming to tell you that supper is ready."

I nodded, though just the thought of food was enough to make me feel like a stone had settled in my stomach. As I stood up, a sudden wave of dizziness swept over me, and I quickly closed my eyes and leaned my hand against the tree trunk while I waited for the earth to stop lurching beneath my feet. "Éowyn?" Mithríel asked, concern heavy in her voice.

"I am fine. I just stood up too quickly." I opened my eyes and straightened up.

She eyed me critically, then walked over and took my arm. "Please, let me help you."

"I told you, I am fine!" I said, irritated.

"No, you are not," she firmly replied, her green eyes glinting. I felt too weary to protest as she led me to my room, then motioned for me to sit down on the bed. As I sat down, leaning against the carved wooden headboard and resting the back of my head against the wall, she sat down on the chair and looked at me steadily. "I know that you have barely eaten for several days now, Éowyn. And when was the last time you had a good night's sleep?"

_Before Wormtongue came to Edoras,_ I could not help thinking. Mithríel eyed me impatiently, and I finally answered aloud, "I cannot remember."

Mithríel sat there for a long moment, looking deeply concerned. She finally asked, "Will you try to eat at least part of your supper?" I nodded mutely; surely I could manage a bite or two. "And if I gave you something to help you sleep, would you take it?"

"You mean you wish to drug me?" I asked indignantly.

"Not exactly; we have an herb that, when brewed into tea, helps one to relax. Perhaps sleep might come a little easier if you tried that."

I thought about it for a moment, then reluctantly agreed, "I suppose it would not hurt to try."

"I will go prepare the tea then, and have your supper sent up here," she replied, and left.

True to my word, I did manage to eat about half of the small bowl of soup that was sent up to me. When Mithríel returned, she helped me change into my nightshift; in spite of my protests that it was still rather early for sleeping, she firmly told me that I needed the extra rest in order to help the headaches to subside. "Now make sure that you drink all of it, Éowyn," she said sternly.

I sniffed at it cautiously, then took a tiny sip; it had a surprisingly pleasant taste that reminded me of apples. "This is not bad at all," I said, looking up in surprise.

Mithríel just smiled. "I hope it helps," she said before leaving me alone. I slowly finished the tea, then lay down and stared at the wall until I lost the battle with my weariness.

When I awoke late the next morning, I still felt exhausted, but my headache had greatly subsided. Sunlight was streaming into the room and I turned my back to it and shut my eyes again, hoping to clear my thoughts.

Though the tea had helped greatly—I had not awoken during the night for the first time since I had come to Gondor—my dreams still left me feeling unsettled. I had been standing on the stone platform surrounding Meduseld once more, though I could not see past the edge for the darkness that surrounded me. I had heard someone behind me, calling my name, but though I stood dangerously close to the edge of the platform, I could not turn towards him. He kept calling me, and the warmth in his voice made me want to go to him, but I was frozen in place. It was not until waking that I realized whose voice I had heard.

_Faramir_.I sighed. I had not realized just how much I missed his company, until then. _Of course you miss him,_ I told myself. _He was your friend, just like Merry._

No…there was more to it than that, and I knew it. As fond as I was of the hobbit, and as much as I missed his cheerful company, it was…different, somehow. Nor was it like the sharp pain I had felt when Aragorn took his leave in Dunharrow; more like a dull, numbing ache that refused to leave. Almost like…

My eyes flew open. I could not love him…could I?

"No!" I muttered to myself. "This is not happening again. I will not be fooled again."

_You care for him…you cannot deny it._

"Of course I do, as a friend. Nothing more." I silently cursed myself for thinking too much, and wished that there was some way I could just escape from the mess I had gotten myself into. _Are you really that fickle? What about Aragorn?_

As soon as the thought crossed my mind, I knew in my heart that this was different. Aragorn had been right—I had never really known him; he had been nothing more than an escape from my life as the king's nursemaid. I could not have truly loved him. But Faramir… I had spent so much time with him since coming to the city, and I had thought he understood me, at least a little. Now that he was gone, I could clearly see how much he had helped me through the time before the war ended, though I had not at the time. And I thought that maybe I had helped him too. His words had led me to believe so. _I should have known,_ I sighed. _Words do not necessarily mean anything._

_And even if I did care for him, it does not matter, _I added silently. _He does not love me. _I felt suddenly frustrated at feeling like I needed to justify myself to my own mind. "He could not!" I exclaimed out loud. _He only pities me_. _That is why he was so kind to me; he was simply trying to be a good friend. _This answer satisfied me for the moment, but left me feeling even sadder. I did not want his pity, that much I would freely admit. But in that moment, I realized that if I were perfectly honest with myself, I did not want only his friendship either.

_But then, it seems I have lost that as well._ Not even so much as a message had come from Faramir since the day he left. Perhaps I truly had been nothing more to him than a diversion while he was under the healers' care, and now that he was free he had no more use for my company. Part of me could not, or would not accept that, but I had no other explanation to give.

My thoughts were thankfully interrupted when the door opened. I glanced towards the door just in time to see Mithríel stepping inside the room. "Oh! I apologize if I woke you, my… I mean, Éowyn."

"I was already awake. And the tea did help; thank you," I replied, forcing myself into a sitting position and pushing my hair behind my ears.

She nodded, then began rummaging through the wardrobe. After a moment, she pulled out my white dress. "Perhaps you would like to wear this one today?"

I nodded silently, forcing myself to my feet so she could help me into the dress. The dress felt strangely loose, as if my frame would no longer fill it out even though it had fit perfectly before. As Mithríel tightened the laces in the back, I asked, "Mithríel, have you heard any word from your husband?"

"Yes," she replied, sounding surprised. "He is well."

"That is good to hear." I paused, then added, "Did he say how long they would be staying at Cair Andros?"

"At least a month, he said. They wish to give the wounded enough time to recover before making them travel," she said. "Why do you wish to know?"

"I was just wondering." I fell silent after that, deep in thought. Could I really stay here alone for another month? I did not think I could, especially with my argument with Éomer still weighing on my mind. Besides, it seemed there was no reason for me to stay in Minas Tirith any longer.

Once I had forced down a bit of food, I went to the gardens and stood alone on the walls once more. Though the sun shone brightly, I could still feel a damp chill in the air. The city sprawled out below me, and I could see the small figures of people going about their morning activities, and hear various sounds of people beginning the day's tasks. I pulled the rough green fabric of my cloak a little closer and drew my hands underneath, hoping to warm them a bit; my fingers felt stiff and cold. Faramir would be somewhere down there as well, I thought sadly, among the growing crowds. If the noise I had heard drifting up from the lower levels of the city over the past week had been any indication, he had certainly found enough to keep himself occupied.

As for myself, I felt trapped. I wondered if perhaps it was not too late to go to Éomer after all. Éothain would not have lied to me; my brother would be happy to see me. At least then I would be among my own people again, away from these walls of stone. But Aragorn was there as well. Though I was now certain that I did not love him, I could not bear to face him again, knowing what a fool I had been.

_But you are being a fool again by staying here, are you not?_ I thought. There was nothing for me here. I was caged again, but this time I had built the prison myself. I rested my hand on the cool white stone of the parapet, looking down at the city. The drop was dizzying. I closed my eyes, my hand clenching into a fist. _I cannot stay here any longer. Not like this_. As I stood there, a new resolve formed in my mind. I would go to Cormallen. And if my people would no longer accept me, then so be it. At least by leaving I would be doing _something_.

Éothain would not have left yet; I could send word to him easily enough, asking him to wait until I had gathered my things. I was about to turn and go back to the Houses when I remembered that I should tell Faramir that I was leaving Minas Tirth; though I had not seen him for nearly a week, I had no wish to leave without saying farewell to him. I began planning what I would say; I had decided to heed my brother's wishes and go to Cormallen. I could make all the necessary preparations for the journey myself, but…

"Éowyn?" a familiar voice asked behind me.

As I whirled around, startled, the entire speech I had been so carefully composing flew out of my head. For a moment, I just stared, feeling strangely unnerved and warmed at the same time by the concern on his face. Finally, I managed to choke out, "Good morning, Faramir."

_

* * *

__A/N: Once again, I apologize for taking so long to update! I had a bad case of writers' block/beta needed more time. Plus I've been spending a lot of time reworking older chapters recently. The next chapter is mostly done, so if I can convince myself it's not completely nauseatingly sappy, I'll try to get it up quicker than this one, provided that RL lets me. (Besides, I know this was a very cruel place to leave it off. -innocent smile-)_

_Just a quick note on the story-I'm basing the herb that Mithriel uses in this chapter on chamomile._

_Also, just a quick bit of Shameless Self-Promotion... I actually have a one-shot spinoff to this chapter, which I'm posting up here tonight as well. won't let me link, but it's called "Distance". So if any of you want to see Faramir's side of things, at least for this part, feel free to check it out. :)_

_Ok, on to the responses..._

**_Go stick your head in a toilet-_ **_I like reading the responses that people write to me too. Quite amusing. :)_

_**Raksha**- I could definitely see that, although I also think that Faramir would probably be more open to the Rohirric viewpoint of the relationship between a horse and its rider than the other men in his country. Especially after spending more time with Eowyn. And yes, Windfola is definitely one smart horsie. He probably has Mearas blood, anyway, so I think he'd be able to pick up on what Eowyn won't..._

_**Carrie- **They'll get on with it in the next chapter, I promise! And though I haven't quite worked out all of the details yet, I can say that the meeting between Faramir and Eomer will definitely be...interesting. (I'm going to try to make it consistent with _The Best-Laid Plans,_ so you know there has to be some issues there. ;)_

_**Rebby-** Sorry to keep you waiting! (And Windfola's actually a guy horse, but I won't tell him you said that. ;)_

_**Rosie-** Don't worry about it, I was having trouble with getting the updates for awhile too. And I'm glad you liked how they're starting to get more comfortable around each other, because that's what I was going for there. :) "Aragorn who..." Heehee!_

_**Caroly**- Sure, nothing wrong with blaming for everything. ;) And I'll still be keeping an eye out for your stories! Good luck with all of the school stuff!_

_**Chou-fleur**- Thanks! I'm glad you like it! Truthfully, I never intended to get into the romance stuff in this story-when I started it, I was just going to take it up to the Witch-King and leave it at that. So I'm glad that it's coming off well._

_**Tara-** Good timing. I just got your review this morning. ;) And I'm glad you enjoyed it!_


	23. Chapter 23: Winter Passing

_**Chapter 23- Winter Passing**_

It took me a moment to recover from the shock of seeing Faramir there. But as he climbed the stairs to join me on top of the wall, my curiosity got the better of me and I asked, "What are you doing here? Does your shoulder still pain you?"

"No, it is almost completely healed," he said. "I came to see you."

"To see me?" I echoed weakly. I felt a tiny flicker of hope, but quickly extinguished it. I would _not_ be foolish enough to see something that was not there, not a second time.

"Yes," he said, running a hand through his dark hair almost nervously. "The Warden came to me yesterday evening; he said that you were ill. I came last night, but Ioreth said that you were asleep and not to be disturbed, so…"

"Oh." My face reddened in embarrassment, as I was suddenly all too aware of how terrible I must look. "It was only a headache, but I am better this morning."

"I am glad to hear it," Faramir replied, looking relieved.

"Is your work going well?" I asked after a moment of awkward silence.

"Well enough, though there is still much that needs to be done." For the first time, I noticed how tired he looked, and wondered how many times during the week he had worked late into the night. I looked down at my feet awkwardly, feeling guilty for believing he had been purposely avoiding me. After another awkward moment, in which I began to keenly miss the easy camaraderie that we had shared before, Faramir said, "May I ask you something?"

"You may," I replied, glancing up at him again tentatively as I searched his face for any hint of what the question might be.

"Éowyn, why do you tarry here, and do not go to the rejoicing in Cormallen beyond Cair Andros, where your brother awaits you?"

How had he known that this was the very question that had been tormenting me for nearly a week? I opened my mouth to tell him of my decision, but somehow the words would not come. The gentle concern in his voice had unnerved me more than an entire company of orcs would have, and yet, I could not help but wonder if he wished me to leave the city after all. Finally, I looked away from him, unable to bear holding his gaze. _You truly are a fool, Éowyn,_ I could not help telling myself as I softly answered, "Do you not know?"

"Two reasons there may be, but which is true, I do not know," he replied.

I turned towards him, my eyes narrowing slightly in frustration. "I do not wish to play at riddles. Speak plainer!"

Faramir began to pace along the wall a bit, running his hand through his hair again. "Then, if you will have it so, lady, you do not go because only your brother called for you, and to look on the Lord Aragorn, Elendil's heir, in his triumph would now bring you no joy." I bit my lip, wondering how had he known about my infatuation with Aragorn; I was certain that I had never spoken with him about it. But before I could ask, he continued, "Or because I do not go, and you desire still to be near me. And maybe for both these reasons, and you yourself cannot choose between them."

I stared at him, speechless; how could he have figured out my conflicting thoughts so quickly, when it had taken me days to sort them out? He stopped pacing abruptly and turned towards me, his grey-blue eyes intense as they met mine and he asked, "Éowyn, do you not love me, or will you not?"

The frank question threw me off-guard, and before I could stop myself, I blurted out, "I wished to be loved by another. But I desire no man's pity."

"That I know." His voice was a little sad, but devoid of any bitterness. "You desired to have the love of the Lord Aragorn, because he was high and puissant, and you wished to have renown and glory and to be lifted far above the low things that crawl on the earth. And as a great captain may to a young soldier, he seemed to you admirable. For so he is, a lord among men, the greatest that now is. But when he gave you only understanding and pity, then you desired to have nothing, unless a brave death in battle." I clenched my jaw as I turned away from him. I did not need him to remind me of my own stupidity.

"Look at me, Éowyn," Faramir said softly. I pulled my gaze away from my hand, which gripped the parapet so tightly that my knuckles were turning white, then finally turned my head and looked over at him. The intensity of his gaze was nearly overpowering, but once my eyes met his, I could not turn away. A hint of a sad smile touched his lips as he said, "Do not scorn pity that is the gift of a gentle heart, Éowyn." I lowered my eyes again briefly, looking back up at him as he continued, "But I do not offer you my pity. For you are a lady high and valiant, and have yourself won renown that shall not be forgotten. And you are a lady beautiful, I deem, beyond even the words of the Elven-tongue to tell."

I furrowed my brow in confusion. Why was he saying these things? Whatever he thought of my deeds in battle, they had failed to bring me the peace that I had sought for so long. And even Wormtongue had admired my looks. That meant nothing. My head dropped, and I was about to turn away again when he added, almost desperately, "And I love you."

_He_…loves _me?_ My head jerked up and my breath caught in my throat as he began pacing once more, obviously nervous as he confessed, "Once, I pitied your sorrow. But now, were you sorrowless, without any fear or any lack, were you the blissful Queen of Gondor, still I would love you." He looked me straight in the eyes and asked once more, "Éowyn, do you not love me?"

_How could you love him?_ The mocking voice that had been tormenting my thoughts for so long asked. _A shieldmaiden with a heart of ice is all you will ever be. No one would truly be able to care for someone like you. _

_Or would he? _I looked steadily into his eyes; it was the same look that I had seen so many times before when he looked at me, a mix of warmth and gentleness and something else that I had never been able to put a name to. Until now.

_He loves me. _He had never given me a reason not to believe him before; there was no reason to doubt the truth of his words now. As they slowly sank in, I realized how blinded I had been by the treacherous words that Gríma had so often spoken to me. With that, I felt like an enormous weight had been lifted from my heart, and I was finally able to recognize the tiny hope that had lain dormant for so long: that someone would be able to fully accept, even love me, for who I was.

_But do I love him?_ I wondered. I certainly liked him; I could easily think of him as one of the closest friends I had ever had, in spite of how short a time I had known him. Then I thought about how much I had missed him recently. I missed the ease with which I had been able to talk to him, the quiet strength that he had so often displayed, the way his eyes sparkled when he was amused by something, that almost-shy smile that I sometimes caught when he looked at me, the gentle concern he had shown towards me so often. I remembered the frequent arguments that I had so often had with myself in the past several days, and my realization that even the possibility of having a chance to perform more great deeds in battle no longer had the all-surpassing appeal it once had. Could I—would I _want_ to—continue my life the way it had been before, without him in it?

With that thought, I had my answer. "I stand in Minas Anor, the Tower of the Sun, and behold! The Shadow has departed," I said softly, half to myself. Faramir's eyes lit up hopefully as I added, "I will be a shieldmaiden no longer, nor vie with the great Riders, nor take joy only in the songs of slaying. I will be a healer, and love all things that grow and are not barren." I looked up at him and smiled. "No longer do I desire to be a queen."

Faramir laughed as he took my hand, a mixture of joy and relief in his voice. "That is well, for I am not a king." My smile brightened as he continued, "Yet I will wed with the White Lady of Rohan, if it be her will. And if she will, then let us cross the River and in happier days let us dwell in fair Ithilien and there make a garden. All things will grow with joy there, if the White Lady comes."

"Then must I leave my own people, man of Gondor?" I teased. "And would you have your proud people say of you, 'There goes a lord who tamed a wild shieldmaiden of the North! Was there no woman of the race of Númenor to choose?'"

He stepped a little closer to me, and I could feel my pulse quicken as he gently reached up and brushed a stray tendril of hair away from my face. His calloused fingers lingered on my cheek as his gaze, filled with a thinly veiled longing, met mine. "I would," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. He leaned in a little more, his eyes still locked with mine as his other hand rested lightly on my upper arm and I had only enough time to close my eyes before his lips lightly brushed mine.

Before I had quite comprehended what was happening, it was over. I felt him pull away slightly, and I realized I was holding my breath. I released it as my eyes opened. When I looked up at him, I could not help smiling; he smiled back before quickly closing the distance between us once more. Though I still felt tentative at first, I was quickly able to relax and enjoy the warmth of his lips against mine. The kiss, though still gentle, took on a little more intensity as he drew me closer, his fingers gently playing with my hair as his hand moved to rest against my back.

We pulled apart abruptly as we heard a few cheers from below. He looked as breathless as I felt, and I could feel my face reddening at having been caught—even more so when I realized my unbroken arm was now resting on his shoulder. I could not even remember moving it. We glanced down at the street below to see a few men standing there, looking up with grins on their faces. "'Tis about time you found yourself a woman, Captain!" one of them called up cheerfully.

Faramir left his hand resting lightly against the small of my back as he looked down; the warmth of his touch made me feel a little better about the embarrassing situation. "I cannot help it if I am a little more choosy than you, Damrod!" he called back, laughing. My face colored even further as the man laughed good-naturedly, and he and his companions walked away. "I suppose I should have thought about where we are standing before I did that," Faramir said apologetically as he looked back at me.

"It is fine," I assured him, smiling even though I knew I was still blushing. "Though, I do have one question for you…" He gave me a quizzical look, and I asked, "Why did you not return sooner?"

"I thought that you wished me to stay away," he answered, a hint of regret in his eyes.

I stared at him for a moment, uncomprehending, before I remembered. _The blue mantle. Of course._ "Forgive me; I never meant to hurt you, Faramir," I said softly, glancing down. "That was the last thing I wanted."

"I know." He tilted my chin up with his hand until I met his gaze again, then took my hand and lightly kissed it, just as he had done so many times before. I felt relieved to know that all was forgiven as he lowered our hands, his fingers intertwining with mine, and together we left the wall and entered the Houses.

Daeron and Ioreth were waiting inside. As soon as we entered, Ioreth greeted us with a wide, knowing grin. "Well, it is about time!" she exclaimed, and I blushed again, wondering if the entire city had been watching us.

Faramir looked embarrassed as well, but he smiled at me before turning to Daeron and saying, "Here is the Lady Éowyn of Rohan, and now she is healed." I smiled back at him, feeling a little better.

Daeron smiled kindly. "Then I release her from my charge and bid her farewell, and may she suffer never hurt nor sickness again." His gaze shifted towards me, and he added, "I commend her to the care of the Steward of the City, until her brother returns."

I looked down at my hand, still in Faramir's, and could not keep myself from smiling at the irony of it all; I finally had what I had wanted since I came to Minas Tirith—my freedom. "Yet now that I have leave to depart, I would remain, for this House has become to me the most blessed," I said softly. Faramir looked at me, a questioning look in his eyes. I smiled up at him, feeling suddenly shy, and he slowly returned the smile as he understood; it simply would not be proper for me to stay with him.

Ioreth gave us an approving smile, then looked over at Daeron and nodded slightly. Daeron nodded as well. "Of course you may stay."

I thanked him, then Daeron bowed. "With your leave, my lord, my lady, I must get back to work." Ioreth reluctantly followed him out of the room, still beaming.

Faramir turned towards me again. "I should also go back to the Citadel," he admitted.

"I know," I said, just as unwilling to part with him so soon. "When will you be able to return?"

"I could come back tonight, if you wish," he answered.

I smiled. "I would like that."

Faramir's eyes were filled with warmth as he returned the smile. "Until tonight then, my lady," he said, leaning over and kissing me lightly before releasing my hand and turning to go.

After he closed the door behind him, I went back to the garden and stood atop the walls once more, looking out over the city. Faramir was no longer in sight, but I still could not keep a smile off my face. _He loves me,_ I thought again, marveling how I had not seen it sooner, and how I had so completely failed to realize that my own feelings towards him were changing.

A movement near the outer walls walls caught my eye, and I looked down to see a lone mounted figure riding away from the city. "Forgive me, brother," I said softly as I watched Éothain ride away, hoping that Éomer would be able to understand, then went back inside, determined to find some means of keeping myself occupied during the remainder of my stay in Minas Tirth.

-------

I could find nothing to do within either my room or the sitting room where I had often shared meals with Merry and Faramir, and eventually made my way back out to the gardens. With the arrival of spring, the neatly-ordered planting beds were coming alive with green shoots poking out of the soil, which looked surprisingly rich for a city that seemed to be made entirely of stone. I knew these had to be the herbs used in the Houses, and could not help wondering how the healers of Gondor had found so many uses for the plants. I knelt down on the grassy path beside the stone-surrounded planting bed, tentatively running a finger over the tender new leaves.

"Éowyn? What are you doing?"

I quickly withdrew my hand and turned to see Mithríel behind me. "I am sorry," I said, feeling like a child who had been caught in some mischief. "I did not hurt it, did I?"

A sudden amused smile crossed the healer's face. "No, my lady."

Feeling a little more relaxed, I asked, "What does this plant do?"

"It helps to soothe an upset stomach," she replied. "Why do you wish to know?"

I looked back at her steadily. "I was simply curious. My people use several of the more common healing plants, but not to the extent that your healers do, nor do we know of as many herbs. It is rather intriguing, actually."

Mithríel looked surprised. "You wish to learn more about healing?"

"Yes, I do." My voice sounded more confident than I felt about the prospect, but I continued nonetheless. "I know a little bit, about treating wounds and such, but…" I paused, uncertain how to continue. Finally, I finished, "Truthfully, if I am going to be staying here, I would like to find a way to be useful. I do not know how much help I can be, but I will do my best."

"I would be happy to teach you what I know," Mithríel offered. "I will have to speak with Ioreth first, of course, but it would be good to have some extra hands around here. Or one hand, anyway," she added, eyeing my arm with a bit of a smile.

"It is practically healed," I automatically argued. "I am certain that I could at least use it for light tasks."

"I believe you could," she said thoughtfully. "I will go and speak with Ioreth on your behalf."

"Thank you," I replied as she turned to go.

Mithríel nodded, then paused at the doorway and looked back at me. "I am happy for you, Éowyn," she said. "He is a good man."

I could feel my face growing hot again. "Word certainly travels fast around here," I muttered.

Mithríel smiled, an almost-mischievous twinkle in her green eyes. "Truthfully, everyone is surprised that this did not happen sooner." At my surprised look, she added, more seriously, "It was obvious to us from the first time he spoke with you that he cared deeply for you. And both of you seemed more at peace when you were together. I think he needed you here as much as you needed him."

"But I did not do anything to help him," I protested.

"Yes, you did. Especially after he learned of what happened to his father," she replied, lowering her voice.

I lowered mine as well as I asked, "How did you know of that? Does everyone here know?"

"No," she quickly answered. "To nearly everyone in the Houses, it is still simply a rumor. I think the only one who knows the entire story is Mithrandir, and perhaps the Halfling that was with him and the Lord Imrahil. I am certain that he only told Daeron and Ioreth what he thought they needed to know, and they spoke to no one about it, except Lord Faramir. "

"Then how did you know?" I asked again.

Mithríel turned away and looked out of the window. "My husband told me. He was there when it happened," she said softly. "It was he who held the door against the other Citadel guards until Mithrandir could come. He killed two of them—they attacked him first, he had no choice but to fight back. But…" Her voice trailed off.

I had forgotten that Mithríel had told me that her husband had been involved. "Are you angry with him?" I asked, unable to read the look on her face.

She wiped at her eyes quickly, then turned back towards me. "No. He did what he knew was right, and I do not fault him for that. Had their places been reversed, I am certain that Lord Faramir would have done the same. But Beregond shed blood in the Hallows to save him. That is a crime punishable by death; his motives do not matter. Lord Faramir tells me he will do all that he can to help, but I do not know if there is anything he can do."

I glanced down, uncertain of what to say. "Mithríel, I am sorry," I finally said. _It is not right,_ I thought. _He should not have to die for saving a man's life._

Mithríel shook her head slightly. "It is no fault of yours. I will go find Ioreth now." She turned and left, leaving me wishing there was something I could do to help.

-------

Ioreth was more than happy to have another person to assist around the Houses, though she thoroughly lectured me about not overworking my arm before finally agreeing. I spent the remainder of the afternoon with Mithríel, and although the sheer amount of information she gave me on the various herbs she used was rather overwhelming, it was good to be able to do something useful again. I had not realized just how many men still remained under the healers' care, as several of the less seriously wounded lay within other nearby buildings, nor how many of them were of my people. I was also surprised at how warmly the men of Rohan greeted me, and at the respect I could see in their eyes as I spoke with them. And so, though I was not much help as a healer that day, it was with a much lighter heart that I greeted Faramir when he returned to the Houses shortly after supper.

"I am a little surprised, to be honest," I said to him as we walked through the gardens. "I was certain that I would be labeled a traitor by my people."

"Why would you think that?" he asked.

I stopped walking, glancing down. "My uncle wished for me to stay behind and govern in Dunharrow, and I disobeyed him. I failed in my duty to him and to my people." I looked up at him again and asked, "Did I do the right thing, Faramir?"

He did not answer immediately, but looked like he was deep in thought as he resumed walking. Finally, he said, "It is difficult to say; I do not know the circumstances or the consequences for those left behind. But I do believe that if you had not come, my people might not have survived." I shook my head, still unconvinced, and he frowned slightly. "You did what we could not."

"You were wounded," I said. "And I do not doubt that you would have stood up to him, had you been in my place."

He turned away for a moment, then began to speak softly. "We—my men and I—encountered him and his kind often in recent days, in Osgiliath." I turned slightly and looked up at him; it was the first time he had spoken to me of the events that had led him to the Houses of Healing. "It was all I could do to stay on my horse; had it not been for Mithrandir's intervention, I am certain that none of us would have returned to the White City once we were forced to fall back. When we were sent out the second time…" He paused, then continued. "I spoke truly when I said that I do not remember much of that battle. I can only recall fighting the Haradrim, then the dark creature flying overhead. I remember the screams…I could not move. Then the arrow struck me and I fell; that is all I remember."

"Faramir…" I started.

He shook his head, then stopped and took my hand. "Even if I had not been wounded, Éowyn, I would have been powerless to stand before him. There was a prophecy, spoken by one of the Elf-lords long ago, saying that no man would be able to slay him."

I could not speak. I could feel my fingers tightening slightly around Faramir's as I tried to come to terms with what he had just said. Finally, I asked, "Why did you not say anything sooner?"

"I did not remember, at first," he admitted. "It has been a long time since I read that. But it seems a strange chance, if chance it were indeed, that one who could fulfill that prophecy would come to Gondor just when our defeat seemed certain."

I looked down, too ashamed to look at him. "When I was facing him, he told me that no man could kill him. I did not think anything of it at the time; I believed that he was just trying to intimidate me." I paused, staring at nothing as I tried to remember what had happened that day. "I laughed at him when he said that. I know not why…I suppose I simply did not care what happened to me anymore." I shivered a little, and Faramir released my hand before placing his arm around my shoulders, drawing me a little closer as I added, "My only thought then was to save my uncle. He had just been restored to us—I could not bear to lose him again so soon. And yet I still failed him." I pulled away from Faramir, walking away a few steps. "You asked me once why I came to Gondor. Do you remember the answer I gave you? I have heard what my people here say about me, and what some of your people say. They speak of my courage, but they are wrong, Faramir. I was afraid—more afraid than I had ever been of anything. The only reason I fought was because I believed that all I could hope for was death with honour; I do not deserve the honour they give me."

Faramir moved to stand next to me again. "Do not believe that your courage is lacking because you were afraid, Éowyn. I have seen even the most battle-hardened warriors cower in terror before those servants of the Nameless One." He paused, and a shadow seemed to briefly cross his face as he added, "Fear and despair are their weapons; no mortal may face them and remain unaffected. You achieved victory in spite of your fear; that is the mark of true courage. And hope…" The cool breeze ruffled Faramir's dark hair as he looked up towards the sky. "Long have my people—our peoples—been bereft of hope," he said quietly. "'Tis a difficult thing to learn to live with it once more."

Feeling oddly comforted by his words, and realizing that he was talking about himself as much as me, I turned to face him as I followed his gaze upwards, taking his hand; his calloused fingers felt warm against my skin. The first stars of the evening were beginning to appear, shining brightly against the deep twilight, and I smiled to see them. "Yes, it is difficult," I said softly. He glanced down at me, and my eyes met his as I added, "But no longer something that I deem impossible."

He smiled then as he pulled me a little closer, tilting my chin up slightly with his free hand. Just before his lips gently pressed against mine, I barely caught his whispered "I love you, Éowyn." I simply squeezed his hand in response; no words would come. But as he pulled back from the kiss, wrapping his arms around my waist lightly while I leaned back against his chest, I sensed that he understood. And so I stood there with him in silence, watching the stars emerge from the darkening sky and feeling more at peace than I had for a long time.

* * *

_Ok, I have a confession to make... I have to put this story on hold for awhile now, for a couple of reasons. The first reason is that, truthfully, I'm really not sure what to do with the plot next... I have some loose ends to tie up that I need to at least write in Aragorn's coronation for, but (since I'm following the book) I have three weeks in the story timeline between that and the end of this chapter that I need to figure out what to do with. I have a few ideas, but nothing definite yet, so I need a little time to sort all that out. (And if anyone has suggestions, I'm definitely willing to listen!) _

_The second reason is that, as many of you know, I'm a grad student, and while I don't have to write a dissertation for my degree, I do have to play a recital. Mine's in about a month and a half, so I've got a lot of practicing/rehearsing/etc. that I need to do during this time. I'm hoping that, in the meantime, I can get my writer's block sorted out and start updating this again around the beginning of May. But I wanted to leave you all with a more happy stopping point in the meantime, so here it is. Thanks in advance for your patience. :)_

* * *

_And now on to the individual responses... putting some from the companion story here too._

**_Lena-_**_ Thanks!_

**_Tara-_**_ Sorry... I'm not a big fan of cliffhangers myself. Especially from authors like myself who take forever to update! And I hope the other story wasn't _too_ depressing..._

**_Chibi-Kaz_**_- One sitting? Wow... I'm impressed. And thanks!_

**_Caprice_**_- Hope you don't mind that I shortened your name. :) And thank you for leaving so many reviews! I'm glad that it seemed like Elladan broke the news gently... the poor girl had enough to deal with without having something like that dumped on her harshly. And I am sorry for making you cry._

**_Chou-fleur-_**_ Well, as fast as I can manage to update... and I hope the romance in this part was also to your liking!_

**_Raksha-_**_ Yeah, she's nuts, isn't she? I mean, if I had a man like that completely nuts over me like that... actually, no, wait, I'd probably be the last to figure it out too. At least I managed to get both the communicating_and _the kissing in this time..._

**_Elvishgurl- _**_I'm glad you're liking it so far! And I'm sorry to say that I don't think there will be any more chapters on the other story, since it was intended to be a one-chapter story. But if I get any more inspiration to work off of this story from Faramir's point of view again, I'll try to get them up here._

**_Geegi- _**_Thank you! And I really am planning on finishing reading yourfic... unfortunately, I haven't really had any time to read lately because of school and all that. Just to let you know, I probably won't read the HP just because I don't really know the fandom, but I did enjoy what I read of the LOTR fic so far._

**_Wenham-wonderer_**_- Ok, here's some more. :) And I like your screenname!_

**_Helblevel-_**_ I can see how that would drive you nuts... I really don't like it when people basically rewrite the characters' personalities either, which was why I tried to keep it as close to Tolkien's conception as I could (considering I'm still pretty new at writing...this story was the first fanfic I ever started.) And I'm glad you liked the other story too; it is a bit limiting writing first-person sometimes, so I enjoyed the chance to be able to give another side to this._

**_Deandra-_**_ Thank you! I don't know if it would ever turn into a full story from Faramir's POV, but I definitely wouldn't be opposed to writing some more like that._

**_AragornLoves-_**_ Thank you! Like I said, I don't think I'll be expanding that particular story though._

**_Dimfuin-_**_ I never really thought about that either, until the viscious little plot bunny attacked... blasted rodents. ;) But thank you!_

**_Carrie- _**_Thanks!_

**_Rosie- _**_Glad you're back, and I hope you enjoyed your trip! And yes, I have thought about attempting some original fic, but then there's all those minor annoyances like having to come up with believable characters and an actual plot... so might be awhile before I try that._


	24. Chapter 24: A Battle Lost

**Chapter 24- A Battle Lost**

Two days later, I was walking about the Houses with Ioreth as she made her morning rounds. As she checked on each of the men still under the healers' care, she kept up a steady stream of chatter about treatments for their various conditions, and the sheer amount of information left me feeling completely overwhelmed and wondering if I had truly gotten in over my head this time. But I was certainly not one to back down from such a challenge, and I reasoned that I could speak with Mithríel later to ensure that I had not completely confused things, if need be.

Ioreth interrupted my thoughts as she busied herself with changing the bandages on a man's arm. "Éowyn, could you check on the lad over yonder?" she asked, motioning towards a nearby bed before lowering her voice. "He took an arrow in his side during the battle, and I fear the wound is not healing as it should." I quickly agreed, grateful for the opportunity to do something on my own.

In spite of growing up surrounded by warriors and accustomed to the ever-present possibility of them falling in battle, my heart still ached as I approached him; he seemed so terribly young, with only the slightest traces of a beard on his jaw to indicate that he had, indeed, left childhood behind him. His pale face stood in sharp relief to his dark brown hair; his skin felt unnaturally warm and his breathing was shallow as I drew back the blanket covering his chest and began unbinding the wound, a task somewhat complicated by my fumbling left hand and my inability to lift him up to aid in removing the bandages. Though Ioreth had consented to allowing me to go without the sling while I was working in order to begin regaining my strength through lighter tasks, she still insisted that my arm be kept splinted and tightly bandaged at all time; between that and the weeks of disuse, the limb was still rather clumsy and tired quickly.

"It is not good, is it?" I turned my head to see that the young man had stirred and was now regarding me solemnly with dark grey eyes.

"I do not know. I have not yet seen your wound," I answered, looking down again.

He continued his quiet scrutiny for a moment, then asked, "You are the lady of Rohan?"

"I am," I answered absently, deciding he was simply trying to make conversation in order to take his mind off of his treatment.

"Are the rumors true? About you and the Captain?"

My head jerked up. "What? I—um…what captain are you referring to?" I began focusing on removing the last of the bandages as quickly as possible.

"Why, Captain Faramir, of course," he answered. I could feel my face heating as a faint grin crossed his face. "Lieutenant Damrod told me when he came to visit yesterday."

I made no reply for a moment. I had not seen Faramir since we had parted in the gardens two evenings ago, though he had sent a note to me the night before apologizing for not being able to come and visit me that day; he had a dreadfully large pile of reports and correspondence to attend to and had not a moment to spare, but he did not wish for me to think that he had forgotten me. I could not help smiling a bit as I thought of it, and the lad took this as confirmation. "Good," he said softly. "He deserves some happiness."

"What do you mean?" I asked, dipping a clean cloth in a basin of warm water and beginning to bathe the wound as gently as I could. Ioreth had been correct; I knew enough about battle injuries to recognize the infection spreading from the wound and across his torso.

"It was no secret that he and the Lord Denethor were often at odds," he answered, wincing at the pressure on the half-healed wound despite his obvious effort to hide the pain. "I do not know much; only what I have heard from the older Rangers, mostly. But it was obvious enough to us that the matter grieved him."

"You are one of his Rangers?" I asked. "What is your name?"

"Haldad, my lady," he answered. "And yes, though I was not with his company long. I had only been under his command for a few months."

I wanted to question him further, but Ioreth joined us then, frowning slightly as she caught sight of the wound. "Thank you, Éowyn," she said briskly. I held back a smirk; as an apprentice healer, she treated me as she would any woman of lesser birth, but if the previous day had been any indication, I knew that once she had decided the day's training was through, she would revert to addressing me in a more formal manner once more. "If you would go get some clean bandages and bring them here—we shall have to make a poultice for him, but I do not wish to leave the wound unbound while it is being prepared."

"Of course," I said, gathering up the soiled bandages for disposal and walking over to the wooden wardrobe standing by the wall. In the larger rooms, I had learned, the wardrobe was used to hold clean linens, as well as some small store of the most commonly used herbs. After placing the dirty bandages in a nearby basin that was already half-filled with them, I opened the wardrobe doors and pulled out an armful of the bandaging strips.

Ioreth thanked me as I returned, taking a larger piece and using it to cover the wound. "We shall return shortly," she announced to Haldad before turning to me. "Come with me, Éowyn."

As we left the room, her expression altered, and she shook her head slightly once we were out of sight of the other patients. I could not help noticing, and though I could easily guess the answer, I hesitantly asked, "It is not good, is it?"

"No, it is not," she answered. "The poultices are not helping—the arrow pierced too deeply, and I fear we were not able to clean it out well enough when he was brought in. I do not believe he has much time left."

"Is there nothing that can be done for him?" I wondered aloud.

Ioreth shook her head. "'Tis too great a risk. If we opened the wound again to try to clean it out again, the shock could very well kill him in his weakened state."

"So you will just let him die, then?" I blurted out, angered at her seeming unwillingness to take any action.

Ioreth's mouth hardened into a thin line. "We shall do all we can for him," she said firmly. "But you saw his condition for yourself; the infection is spreading too rapidly. You should know enough about war to know that not every battle can be won, Éowyn."

I stared at her for a moment, truly seeing for the first time what Faramir had meant when he called her a formidable foe. "Forgive me, Mistress Ioreth," I finally replied, feeling chastised. "I did not intend to question your knowledge in this matter."

Her expression softened once more as she answered, "Do not trouble yourself, my lady. The most difficult thing for all of us is realizing that sometimes, all we can do is try to ease the patient's passing."

"That does not make it easier," I said softly.

"No, it does not," she answered, opening the door to the room where the herbs were stored. I followed her inside, feeling a new respect for the healer. Ioreth began pulling various packages of herbs out. She seemed rather preoccupied to me; normally she would have taken the opportunity to instruct me on which herbs she was using and how they were to be applied to the patient, but now she remained uncharacteristically silent. "There is, perhaps, one thing you can do for him," she finally said quietly. I glanced up at her, and she added, "Undoubtedly, he will wish to speak to his Captain once more."

I nodded. "I will bring him word," I said.

A slightly amused look passed over her face at how quickly I had agreed. "Do you know how to get there?" she asked.

"Of course!" I quickly answered, then paused. "At least, I think I remember…"

"I could escort her, Mistress Ioreth," a third voice said behind us. We both turned to see a dark-haired man standing there. He looked vaguely familiar to me, though I could not place it until Ioreth asked, "What are you doing here, Damrod?"

"I came to see the lad," he answered, a solemn look on his face. "Do not lie to me, Mistress—I have seen this kind of wound before. I know his time is short, and I doubt not that Lord Faramir will wish to be informed. It may make the news easier to bear, coming from someone he knows." He glanced over at me as he said this, and I could feel my face turning red as I remembered where I had seen him last—he had been the man that Faramir had spoken with when we had been caught atop the walls two days before. Thankfully, he seemed not to notice my embarrassment.

Ioreth finally nodded. "Go," she said, then turned to me and added, "Do not tarry, my lady. If his fever grows worse, he may be too delirious to speak with him." I nodded, then Damrod quickly escorted me out of the Houses.

We walked swiftly, though silently, through the city streets for a time, until I turned to the Ranger and asked, "May I ask you something?" He nodded, and I continued, "Have you known Faramir long?"

"Aye, ever since he was first assigned to the Rangers," Damrod answered.

"Is it true…" I hesitated, wondering if it was my place to ask what would undoubtedly be a difficult question to answer, especially since Faramir had rarely spoken of such things himself. But my curiosity got the better of me, and I finally took a deep breath and finished, "What were things really like between Faramir and his father?"

Damrod paused in mid-stride, rubbing at the dark stubble on his chin thoughtfully. When we resumed walking a moment later, he slowly replied, "I believe that he is the only one who can truly give you a satisfactory answer, my lady. He was not in the habit of speaking of it much, nor were we in the habit of questioning him about it, and so I only know what I have observed."

He paused then, and I said, "Please, continue."

"It was no secret among the captains that Lord Denethor had little regard for his younger son," Damrod said. "Whenever the men of Gondor had victory in battle, the credit was always given to Captain Boromir for the most part; whenever the day was lost, especially in Ithilien, Captain Faramir was always first to receive the blame. Those of us under his command never understood why he received such censure; the Captain has a gift for strategy, and many a time his quick thinking in battle was the only thing that saved us from being wiped out completely. But there were those, particularly the lords closest to the Steward, who believed his courage and skill to be far less than that of his brother and were not afraid to speak openly of such things."

"I do not understand," I replied. "Why would he say such things? Especially about his own son?"

"I know not, my lady," he said. "I saw them together on several occasions, when we were asked to give our reports to the Steward. It always seemed to me that Lord Denethor was always quick to find the tiniest flaw in our strategy, and quick to blame our Captain for even the smallest failure. Faramir was never one to openly oppose Lord Denethor, but neither would he blindly follow his will, particularly when it came to giving orders in battle. I remember one time after we had lost a battle in Ithilien, and Lord Denethor rebuked him harshly for giving up that land to the enemy. We had been sorely outnumbered, and so the Captain responded by saying that had we not retreated, we would have been slain to the last man, and given the choice, he would rather give up a plot of land that could be recaptured later than to sacrifice the lives of so many of his people in order to defend it. I will never forget the look on the Steward's face—he was completely enraged. Though we did our best to convince him that retreating had been the only option, we could not sway him. Sometimes we could not help but marvel that Faramir was allowed to remain Captain, though we were grateful that he was; I truly believe that no one else would have been able to hold Ithilien as long as he did, as do all of the Rangers. Not even his brother could have done as much." Damrod then paused, and added, "Perhaps that was the problem all along; Faramir never would have held it against him, for he loved his brother dearly, but in Lord Denethor's eyes, no one could measure up to Boromir."

I could make no response, because we had reached the Citadel by this time, but Damrod's comments left me deep in thought as we walked up the stairs. Two guards stood at the door, but one of them seemed to know Damrod. "Good day, Lieutenant," he said. Damrod returned the greeting as the guards stood aside to let us enter. We walked inside the spacious main hall, which was empty except for a few household servants. One of them, an elderly man, walked up to us and bowed. "May I help you?" he asked.

"We are seeking the Lord Faramir," Damrod answered. "Is he here?"

"I believe that he is in his study," the servant answered, "but I have not seen him today. I will take you there, if you wish." Damrod nodded his consent, and we followed him through the hallway and up the stairs. He paused in front of a closed door. "Would you like me to announce you, Lieutenant?"

"That will not be necessary, thank you," I replied. The servant bowed, then left. Damrod and I looked at each other silently for a moment, until he finally motioned for me to proceed. So I knocked on the door twice, then waited. When there was no answer, I called out, "Faramir?" There was still no response, so I tested the latch. It moved easily, and so I lifted it quietly and pulled the door open.

Behind me, I could see Damrod shaking his head just out of the corner of my eye as we looked into the room. All I could do was blink in surprise. The room was nearly dark; the only light came from a candleholder on the far side of the desk, with the tapers burning low, and heavy drapes blocked the light from outside. Books and documents were piled on nearly every available surface, and I could see why Faramir had been kept so busy. As for the Steward himself, he was indeed in there, but he was slumped over the desk with his head resting on his arm and his dark hair falling carelessly over his closed eyes. A piece of parchment lay in front of him and he still held a quill pen loosely in his ink-stained fingers. "He has done it again," Damrod muttered softly; when I turned a questioning glance upon him, he continued, "He has worked himself to complete exhaustion. I am sorry to say that this is not the first time that such a thing has happened."

I turned back towards Faramir, hesitating. I hated the thought of disturbing his rest, but it seemed that there was no other option. With that, I moved to stand beside his chair, unable to resist smoothing the hair away from his eyes before resting a hand on his shoulder. "Faramir?" I said, shaking his shoulder as gently as I could. He stirred slightly, but made no further response, so I tried again, my voice more insistent. "Faramir, wake up."

He shifted a little, then slowly opened his eyes. As he wearily lifted his head from the desk, blinking as if trying to clear his vision. When he saw me, an unguarded smile crossed his face. "Éowyn," he murmured. I smiled back and squeezed his shoulder a bit.

Suddenly, he was wide-awake. "Éowyn!" he exclaimed, sitting up straight in his chair. "What are you doing here? And at this hour?"

I furrowed my brow. "It is well into the morning," I answered.

"It is?" Without warning, Faramir jumped up, strode across the cluttered study and drew back the curtains, then groaned as the room was suddenly flooded in light. I covered my mouth with my hand, feeling a bit guilty for my amusement at seeing him so flustered for once.

He took a deep breath as he looked out the window, and then turned back to me with considerably more composure than he had shown before, although the light I had seen in his eyes when he first saw me was not quite extinguished. "You still have not told me why you have come," he said. "Did you come alone, then?"

"No, my lord," Damrod answered, not even bothering to hide his amusement as he leaned casually against the doorframe, arms folded across his chest. "Truly, I am sorry to disappoint you."

My face flushed red, and Faramir gave him a stern look for a moment, but his expression quickly softened as he greeted his lieutenant. "Good morning, Damrod," he said before turning to me and saying, "I apologize if he has offended you."

"Not at all," I answered, though I could still feel traces of heat in my cheeks. "But I fear that we do not come with good news, Faramir."

"'Tis Haldad, Captain," Damrod added, reverting back to addressing Faramir as one of the Rangers. "The healers say he does not have much time left, and…"

Faramir ran his hand through his hair, pushing it away from his face. "Say no more," he interrupted. "I will come. I just need a moment."

"Of course," Damrod answered. Faramir gave me an apologetic look, then left the room. I glanced over at the Ranger, but he was not looking at me, so I silently studied the room, absently glancing at the titles of the thick leather-bound volumes on the shelves that took up an entire wall until Faramir returned, wearing a fresh tunic and looking like he had at least attempted to scrub his hands free of the ink stains. He motioned for me to leave the room before him, then he followed with Damrod not far behind.

On our way out of the Citadel, he caught the attention of the same servant who had taken us up to the study. "Maedion," he called out, "I have urgent business at the Houses of Healing. See to it that any matters that come up during my absence are dealt with as quickly as possible."

"Yes, my lord," the grey-haired man answered, bowing. Faramir nodded as Maedion straightened, then offered me his arm and escorted me out. I remained silent as we walked, while Damrod informed him more fully of the young Ranger's condition. By the time he was fully apprised of the situation, we had reached the Houses again.

Ioreth met us at the door. "'Twas good of you to come, my lord," she said, curtseying. "I will take you to him." She then turned to me and added, "My lady, if you would join Aredhel in preparing more bandages—I believe she is upstairs." I nodded, understanding that Faramir would undoubtedly wish to speak with Haldad alone.

I did find the young apprentice healer right where Ioreth had said, and began helping her by rolling up the strips of linen she cut so they could be ready when needed. The task was light enough that I was able to use both arms, which was a great relief to me, and before I knew it, I heard a knock on the doorframe and turned to see Faramir standing there. His expression seemed a bit strained to me, so I quickly bid Aredhel farewell and excused myself. Once out in the hallway with the door closed behind me, Faramir took my hand. "Éowyn," he started, then fell silent, seemingly at a loss for words.

"He is gone then," I said, certain that there could be no other reason he was so subdued. Faramir nodded, and I glanced down, unable to help feeling grieved, especially when I looked back up at Faramir. He was obviously trying to mask it, but I could tell that the young man's passing had hit him hard. Unsure what to say, I released his hand before wrapping my arms around him. "I am sorry," I said softly. Faramir did not answer for awhile, holding me tightly. When he finally drew back a bit, I took his hand once more and said, "Come with me."

He did not resist as I led him down to the sitting room; I knew that it would be deserted during this time of day. Once he had pulled one of the chairs closer and we were both seated, I asked, "Do you wish to talk about it?"

Faramir reached out and took my hand, then began running his fingers lightly over mine, looking as if he were deep in thought. "It seemed that the pain left him at the very end, for which I am grateful. He knew that there was nothing the healers could do, and he had come to terms with it; all he asked was that I send his love to his mother and sisters in Lossarnach."

"He seemed so young," I said.

"He was; he had just completed his training and had joined my company during the autumn." Faramir fell silent, and when he spoke again, there was a far-off look in his eyes. "In Ithilien, we were constantly in danger of being ambushed or overrun by the forces of Mordor. We had to trust each other with our lives nearly every day, and so even the newest Rangers quickly became our brothers."

"I truly am sorry, Faramir," I replied. Though my experience in such things was far more limited than his, I could understand the deep bonds that were often forged in the fires of war; after the battle we had fought together, I knew it would be heartbreaking for me to lose Merry in such a way. And I knew, from watching Éomer and others in his company, how much the loss of even one of their own could affect them. "What is to be done now?"

"Damrod has gone to gather those of our company that remain in the city," Faramir answered. "When he returns, we shall do our best to honor our fallen brother. But until then, I fear I must return to my duties."

"Do you wish me to go with you, when the time comes to bury him?" I asked.

Faramir looked surprised at the question, but quickly recovered. "Nay, Éowyn," he answered.

I nodded, understanding that this was likely something that would be best left between those who had known and fought with Haldad. "Very well. But if you change your mind…"

"I know." He left shortly after that, and I returned to my duties as well. Two of Faramir's men came later to carry Haldad to his final resting place, taking a few of the Rangers that were still healing with them, and night had already fallen when Faramir and Damrod escorted those men back to the Houses. I had gone to my room and did not know of his coming until Mithríel came to inform me that the Steward wished to see me, and was waiting for me downstairs.

When I arrived downstairs, Faramir looked up and greeted me with a faint smile. "I apologize for disturbing you, but I had no wish to leave without seeing you again," he explained, taking my hand once I had moved close enough. "I have missed you lately, Éowyn."

"I have missed you as well," I replied, intertwining my fingers with his. "But I dare not keep you here long; I am certain that you need to rest."

"I dare not stay long," he answered. "I still have several reports that I need to finish tonight."

I furrowed my brow as I looked at him, frowning as I noted how weary he already looked. "Can it not wait until the morning?" I asked. "You look exhausted."

Faramir frowned slightly. "I am the Steward now, Éowyn," he replied. "All of Gondor is now under my care, until the King returns."

"I know," I answered. "But what good can you be to your people if you work yourself to death?"

"Do not be troubled over me," Faramir said. "I am fine."

"You fell asleep while you were working," I retorted, pulling my hand out of his and crossing my arm over my sling. His frown grew deeper, and I sighed and moved my hand again to rest against his cheek. "I cannot help being worried about you, Faramir. Is there no one who can assist you in this task?"

He shook his head. "No one comes to mind. Many of the nobles of Gondor either fell in battle, or are still at Cair Andros with their men. Those who remain near Minas Tirith are already occupied with gathering reports of damage to their lands or learning how their people now fare. I have as many people as I can making reports on the state of the city, but in the end, all the reports must go through me. No, Éowyn, this is a duty I must bear myself."

I fell silent for a moment, thinking. "Is there any way I can help?" I finally asked.

Faramir's expression softened. "I wish you could," he said, pulling me into his arms. "I doubt not that you would assist me as much as you were able..."

"But I am unfamiliar with the affairs of Gondor, and in the end I would likely only hinder you," I finished, feeling frustrated at my inability to lighten his burden.

"I do appreciate the offer," he said, kissing me lightly on the forehead. "But I fear I have lingered here too long; I must return to the Citadel now. If I return quickly, I may be able to keep those accursed reports from taking all of my time tomorrow as well."

"Then I will not delay you here any longer," I replied, tightening my arms around him briefly before stepping back. "But you must try to get some rest tonight, Faramir."

"I shall do my best," he promised. We walked towards the door, where Damrod was waiting for Faramir, and shortly before we reached it, he suddenly leaned over and kissed my cheek. Before drawing back fully, he quietly said, "My dear Éowyn, you have already helped me, more than you realize."

I could feel my face growing warm at the compliment as his eyes searched my face, and attempted to cover my discomposure by weakly joking, "If by that you mean rousing Gondor's Steward from his slumber, then I shall accept your thanks for the small service offered to your country."

Faramir smiled at me fondly before squeezing my hand and bidding me good night. I stayed where I was until he and Damrod had departed, then turned and retreated back to my room.

-------

After the afternoon rounds had been completed on the next day, Mithríel took me to the gardens, as she had for the past few days, to aid me in learning the different uses of the plants that grew there. Though there were several books in the Houses devoted to herblore, she had confided to me that she had always found it much easier to learn when she could see the plants she was studying. And after being in the sickrooms all day, I was grateful for the fresh air. We had barely begun, however, before Bergil burst into the garden.

"Good day, Mother! Good day, Lady Éowyn!" he called out cheerfully as he ran through the door.

Mithríel sighed, though I could see a twinkle in her eye. "Bergil, what have I told you about running indoors?" she scolded.

The smile faded as Bergil slowed his pace. "Sorry, Mother," he answered.

She winked at me before replying. "Since you are now outside, however, you may run as much as you wish, provided you do not get in the way."

"I believe that will not be an issue," a second voice said from the doorway. I was unable to suppress a smile at the familiar voice, and looked back to see Faramir standing there, his eyes sparkling as my gaze met his. "I fear I must deprive you of the Lady Éowyn's company, for now. I took the liberty of relieving your son from his duties for the remainder of this day, Mithríel; I trust this is not a problem."

"Of course not, my lord," the healer answered, curtsying slightly as we rose to our feet. "If you will pardon me, I will take my leave. Come, Bergil," she added. Faramir stepped aside to allow her and her son to go inside.

Once we were alone, I said, "I am surprised to see you, Faramir. I thought your duties were to keep you away for the rest of today, at the least."

"As did I," he answered as he crossed the distance between us, smiling at me so warmly that I could feel my pulse quickening. "But, alas, it seems I cannot be parted from you for so long."

There was a faint hint of mischief in his voice, and so I answered, "If all of Gondor's troubles can wait while you flatter me with your fine words, my lord, then by all means, continue. If not, tell me truly, why are you here, Faramir?"

He sighed in resignation. "As you will, then; you have found me out quicker than I had hoped." I could not help smiling innocently as he continued, "It turns out that I may need your help after all, Éowyn."

* * *

_A/N: I apologize for taking so long to update this. After the recital, things got crazy with school and I honestly didn't have a chance to work on this much until after it ended. (But my masters' is done now!) And then I had writers' block that lasted well into the summer. I also apologize that this chapter is more filler than anything else; I've got two more sections almost ready to post up, so hopefully it will start getting interesting again soon. Thanks for bearing with me._

_And also thanks to Chibi-Kaz, Raksha The Demon, BKB, and helblevel, who offered suggestions for killing the writers' block, and Quillon and Lady Stefania, who gave me some much-needed additional betaing assistance for this and the next two chapters._

_Now for some quick responses:_

_**Umino-garra** - thanks. I needed it._

_**Chibi-Kaz** - yeah, a month and a half, or two, or six... but yes, that particular issue will definitely be addressed in upcoming chapters. ;)_

_**CapriceAnn- **I'll take that as a compliment._

_**Raksha** - Great suggestions, as always. Don't worry, Eomer will be barging in with his $.02, hopefully in the not-so-distant future. And I do have a pretty clear idea of where to end this story... it's just getting there. :p_

_**Serina-** hi, and thank you! _

_**LothirielofRohan** - hi! I was quite upset with PJ and Co. over that as well. What was he thinking, believing he could resolve a story that had been building for two movies in thirty seconds or less? But I'm glad you're enjoying the story. :)_

_**BKB- **thanks! I honestly wasn't expecting the rest of my work to get as out of hand as it did post-recital. And to answer your question, I play the flute. I enjoy Bach and a good bit of the more modern flute music, as far as playing goes._

_**Elessar-Lover** - don't know if you've gotten to this point, but thank you. She's my favorite character too. As if that weren't obvious. :P_

_**Adriane-enairdA- **I understand, it is a bit...um... longwinded, isn't it? But thank you for the high compliment! And great name._

_**Deandra-** finally catching up to your reviews! And if anything you're saying is true ;), nothing more than what you've done for Eomer/Lothiriel._

_**LimeJuiceTub** - Thank you! I actually think that Eowyn's one of his better-developed characters, but definitely left some room to play there. :D_

_**helblevel-** Oh, I'm so glad it came across as not too sappy. I was trying very hard to avoid that. And again, that issue will be dealt with... all in good time. :)_

_**Shandris- **Yeah, he definitely should have written more about that. You know, skipped all that filler stuff about some stupid ring. ;)_


	25. Chapter 25: A Helping Hand

**Chapter 25- A Helping Hand**

Faramir had brought our horses in order to speed the journey from the sixth to the first level of the City, and had left them waiting outside the Houses. It took me much longer than I wished to get into Windfola's saddle and arrange my skirt for riding, and I could not help wishing once more that I had brought a riding skirt with me, or that I had been able to locate the breeches I had worn into battle. Finally, everything was arranged satisfactorily enough and we left. As I followed him through the stone-paved streets, he explained the situation to me. "Several companies of the Rohirrim have returned to the city from defending the road at Anorien, under the command of a Marshall Elfhelm," he said. "In exchange for food and shelter until their king and the remainder of the army returns, they have agreed to aid us in rebuilding the lower two levels, since they were the ones most heavily damaged in the siege."

"What is the trouble, then?" I asked.

"It seems that there have been several misunderstandings in regard to the agreement, though I do not know all of the details yet," he replied. "I do not wish for them to be treated unfairly, of course, and so I might need your help in translating…"

"But I thought you could speak Rohirric," I interrupted.

"I can," he explained patiently. "It has been quite some time since I have had need to converse in your language, however, and while I can understand it well enough, I fear my skill in speaking it fluently may be a little weak. Besides, I believed that they might appreciate having one of their own people to help speak for them."

"I see," I said, touched by his thoughtfulness in the matter. "I will aid you as much as I am able, Faramir." He made no further reply other than to turn back and smile at me gratefully, and so we rode in silence until we had reached the first circle of the city.

The men were hard at work as we drew closer, but our approach did not go unnoticed—I could hear the exclamations even above the sounds of construction. As word of our arrival spread, the men stopped what they were doing, and a large group of them had already gathered by the time Faramir drew his horse to a halt. One older man stepped out in front of the crowd, his golden hair streaked lightly with silver, and I recognized him immediately as Elfhelm. As one of the Marshalls who had ridden with my father, and later my brother, I had known him my entire life. After greeting Faramir cordially, he turned to me. "My lady!" he exclaimed in our language. "It is good to see you alive and well; when we heard of your riding with us and that you had been wounded, we all feared the worst."

"Thank you, Elfhelm," I answered as he helped me down from Windfola's back, taking care to avoid entangling my skirt further. "I assure you that I have received nothing but the best of care."

Elfhelm smiled and bowed again, then turned back to Faramir, who had been picketing the horses. "It was good of you to come so quickly, my lord," he said, this time in the common tongue. "I have no wish to cause trouble, but the men are beginning to complain about the conditions."

"I will aid you as much as is in my power," Faramir answered. "The Lady Éowyn has graciously agreed to assist me in this, as she will undoubtedly be better able to discern what will best help your people."

"And we are grateful for her aid," Elfhelm said, smiling at me. "I believe it will raise the spirits of all the men, having her here."

A few of the men who understood the common tongue cheered their agreement with Elfhelm's statement, and I could not help feeling a little embarrassed at the attention. But I managed to keep my head high, and knowing my duty, I addressed them in Rohirric. "Thank you; you are kinder than I deserve." Several men cried out to the contrary, and I could not quite keep from smiling as I continued. "You have my word that every effort will be made to resolve this problem quickly. Now, what is the trouble?"

Elfhelm and a few of the other captains then stepped forward to explain the situation to me. When they had finished, I turned to Faramir, who had been standing by silently, and translated, "They have no complaint about their sleeping quarters, as they are perfectly content to camp outside the city walls. But it seems that the promised food rations have fallen short by about a third."

Faramir nodded thoughtfully. "And has this complaint been brought to the attention of the guards in charge of food distribution?"

Before I could turn back and ask the men of Rohan, one of them, who apparently understood the common tongue, retorted in Rohirric, "Of course we have complained to them! But it does no good."

"They laugh it off, my lady," another added. "They act as if we are barbarians, good for nothing more than brute labor, just because we are not from their fair land of the South."

"And they forget that if not for us, their 'fair land' would have been razed to the ground by now, nor would they have made so much progress in rebuilding their city," a third complained. Several of the men grumbled in assent. "Surely you know this, my lady," he continued, "as you had a greater hand in that than most."

One older man rubbed at his beard thoughtfully, narrowing his steel-grey eyes slightly. "Are you certain that this Steward can be trusted to keep his word, my lady? After all, it is _his_ people that are causing this."

If Faramir understood him, there was no change in his carefully guarded expression to indicate such a thing. But the murmurs were increasing, and I realized the situation would quickly get out of hand if no action was taken. I held up my hand to silence the men, then answered, "Whatever the prejudices of his people may be, I assure you that Lord Faramir does not share this view. He is a reasonable man, and I have no doubt that he will keep his word; if he does not, you may hold me personally responsible. If you will pardon me for a moment, I will speak with him." The captains nodded assent, and I turned back to Faramir. We walked away a few paces, then I lowered my voice and asked him, "How much of that did you understand?"

"Enough to understand that they believe they are being treated unfairly by my people," he answered, a troubled look on his face.

"Is there anything that can be done about this?" I asked, glancing back at the men.

Faramir remained silent, gazing past me with a thoughtful look. "Many of the people who left the city before the siege are beginning to return," he finally answered. "I am certain that some bakers and cooks are among them; with more people to help, it should be a simple enough task to have a few of them specifically assigned to feeding the workers here."

"And that will solve the problem?"

"It should solve the problem of your people getting enough to eat," Faramir said. "As for the rest... I had hoped that the friendship between our lands could be renewed, but it seems that will take some time."

I nodded. "I have often heard talk around the court in Edoras, complaining about Gondor's lack of interest in our troubles. I doubt not that you had enough troubles of your own, but in recent days the king was often told..." My voice trailed off as I suddenly recalled the words I had often heard Wormtongue speak to my uncle on this very topic in recent days.

A strange look must have crossed my face at the memory, because Faramir asked, "Éowyn? Are you well?"

I looked up to see worry in his eyes. Though I was touched by his concern, though I knew I would eventually have to tell him about Wormtongue, I also knew this was not the time or place to do so. _He has enough to concern himself with,_ I decided. If I were to be perfectly honest with myself, I realized, I was still afraid to talk to him about it; I could not bear for him to think ill of me. "Yes, I am fine," I finally answered, forcing a smile. "And while I cannot speak for Lord Aragorn, I have no doubt that my brother will also wish to restore our relations with Gondor."

Faramir nodded. "I truly hope so." He then glanced over to where the captains were still waiting, then added, "Shall we go see if this is an acceptable arrangement?" I nodded, and we walked back over to Elfhelm and the other captains. "Marshall Elfhelm," Faramir said, "I believe I will be able to arrange for enough food for your men without much difficulty."

"Thank you, my lord," Elfhelm said, bowing. Then he lifted his head as we heard approaching footsteps.

I glanced back to see a dark-haired man with a slight limp walking towards us. When Faramir turned towards him, the man bowed, then said, "My Lord Steward, a party of nobles has just arrived from the south; they wish to speak with you."

"Have them await me at the Citadel, and I shall attend them as soon as I am able," Faramir answered.

"My lord, they insist on seeing you at once," the messenger said, looking a bit nervous.

Faramir's jaw tightened slightly; I saw this, and quickly spoke up, "My lord, if any further arrangements with my people need to be made, I can complete the negotiations and send you word at a later time."

His face relaxed. "Thank you, my lady; I am in your debt. Marshall, if you will pardon the interruption, I must see what this urgent business is about." Elfhelm nodded, and Faramir turned and bowed slightly to me; a faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he raised his eyes to mine. Then he turned and followed the messenger away, leaving me to complete the negotiations.

It did not take long to complete the arrangements, and once we were finished discussing what needed to be done, Elfhelm offered to escort me back to the Steward. I assented, and amid well-wishes for my continued recovery and requests that I return to visit them again from several of the men, we departed for the gate. In his haste, Faramir had left Wildfire behind, and so Elfhelm led him while I took Windfola. Elfhelm spoke first. "He seems like a good man."

"He is," I answered automatically.

"I thought that you would say as much."

My head shot up and my face flushed scarlet at Elfhelm's knowing grin. "You knew?" I asked weakly.

"Fear not, my lady; I believe your regard for the Steward was lost on most of the men, but they have not known you as long as I have. It is obvious to me that he cares for you, though."

"He has shown me nothing but kindness since our first meeting," I answered slowly.

Elfhelm nodded. "If you truly care for him, then I wish you all happiness, Éowyn. Though, I feel it only fair to warn you that several of the men you just spoke with would be more than happy to give him a good thrashing if he had treated you otherwise." He smiled at this.

I grinned in response, but my smile faded when the road we had been walking down opened close to the gaping hole in the wall where the gate had once stood. Faramir was indeed standing there, talking animatedly to two dark-haired people dressed as nobles, while a small group of servants and guards stood nearby. One of the visitors was a woman, and I nearly dropped Windfola's reins at the sight, unable to help feeling a bit jealous at the easy manner in which Faramir conversed with her. For a moment I stood frozen, trying to determine whether to retreat or to walk up to him and demand an explanation. When my curiosity got the better of me, I turned to Elfhelm and said, "I will leave the horses here for now, if I may. Would you help me picket them?"

"Of course, my lady. I can take both, if you wish," he answered. I thanked him, then once he had taken Windfola's reins from me, I began walking towards the small group as quickly as I could without running.

Both the man and the woman were facing away from me, but I did catch Faramir's gaze as I approached. He gave no sign that he had seen me, save a sparkle in his eye, but I was reassured to see that there was no guilt in his countenance when he saw me. I drew closer just in time to hear the woman say, "Oh, come, cousin! You must tell us which of those noblewomen of Gondor has finally managed to capture your heart. I distinctly recall you saying they were all frightfully dull when you last came to visit us."

_Cousin?_ My relief was nearly overwhelming, and so I barely noticed the other man's reproachful, "Thirí, you should not say such things!"

Faramir shook his head. "No, she is correct; I do remember saying something of the sort. But," he said, smiling at me now, "I should warn you that she is neither dull nor from Gondor."

The visitors both turned to see me, and we studied each other for a moment. They were both young, and their features were similar enough that they appeared to be related. The woman's glossy, dark brown hair was swept up into a simple knot at the nape of her neck, and the man's wavier, raven-colored hair was cropped shorter, much like Faramir's. Both had eyes that were the same shade of blue as a clear summer sky. Faramir took advantage of the silence to step forward and take my hand, pulling me closer to the others. "'Ro, Thirí, this is the Lady Éowyn of Rohan. Éowyn, may I introduce my cousins, Amrothos and Lothiríel of Dol Amroth."

Amrothos nodded politely; despite his reserved manner, which reminded me very much of Faramir's own nature, there was a warmth in his eyes that indicated he was, indeed, pleased to meet me. Lothiríel seemed a bit embarrassed that I had overheard her comment, but recovered quickly and greeted me with a bright smile and a slight curtsey. "It is truly a pleasure to meet you, Lady Éowyn," she said. "Anyone who can bring my cousin such joy is well worth the acquaintance."

"Thank you," I said, feeling suddenly awkward. Faramir seemed to sense this, and squeezed my hand as he explained to me, "It seems that you are not the only one who believed I was in need of aid; my uncle, Lord Imrahil, has sent Amrothos from Cair Andros to assist me."

An amused grin crossed Amrothos's face as he added, "I was sent home first, of course, to bring news of the outcome of the battle. And once she learned that I would be traveling to Minas Tirith, my dear sister could not be persuaded to be left behind." Lothiríel smiled sweetly, but made no attempt to deny his statement.

"And I am quite grateful for your family's concern in this matter, Amrothos," Faramir answered, smiling at his kinsman. "But come! I am sure you are both weary from your journey." He paused, then turned to me and added, "Éowyn, has the situation with the Rohirrim been resolved?"

"For the moment," I answered. "Elfhelm has informed me fully of what the men require in the way of supplies; I will tell you whenever you wish."

"Thank you. I truly appreciate your willingness to help me with this," he said.

"It is the least I can do," I replied, squeezing his hand in response.

Amrothos cleared his throat quietly, and Faramir glanced back at him and his sister. "Of course. Forgive me, cousins," he said, coloring slightly, causing Amrothos to grin and Lothiríel to cover her mouth with her hand, undoubtedly to suppress a laugh. His expression unguarded for once, Faramir attempted to glare at them, but was having difficulty in holding back a smile himself. "I must escort the lady back to the Houses of Healing first," he added.

"Then we shall accompany you," Lothiríel declared. "I should like the opportunity to further make your acquaintance, if it pleases you, Lady Éowyn."

"Of course," I said, suddenly feeling apprehensive. I could not keep myself from thinking of what Elfhelm's men had just told me about the attitude displayed towards them by the men of Gondor, and wondering again if I would cause Faramir similar difficulties with his people when it became commonly known that their Steward was courting one of the Rohirrim. I had already begun to notice the dark looks directed at me by some of the women in the city on the occasions that I had accompanied Faramir outside of the Houses. And I had no wish to cause a rift between him and the family that remained to him. I regarded Lothiríel curiously, wondering if she was testing me to see if I was worthy of her cousin, but I could see nothing in her expression to indicate anything but a genuine desire to know me better, and so I decided to hope that she truly did mean well.

After Faramir helped me onto my horse—it was still difficult for me to mount without straining my arm overmuch—he and Amrothos politely looked away while I arranged my skirt. Lothiríel quickly trotted up beside me on a strawberry roan-colored mare with white-flecked legs and flashed me a conspiratorial smile. "It is good to meet another woman who is unafraid to use a proper saddle," she said. "We shall have to go riding sometime."

"I would like that," I answered as we moved our horses into a walk, smiling back before remembering that I still had nothing to wear that was suitable for riding. "I will have to see if I can obtain a riding skirt from the healers first, however," I reluctantly added, looking down ruefully at the accursed skirt that had already caused me so much difficulty in the saddle that day.

"You do not have one?" Lothiríel blurted out, then colored slightly. "Forgive me; of course you would not have one here," she said, grinning sheepishly. I gave her a sidelong look, and she lowered her voice as she explained. "Yes, I do know how you came to this city. Word of your deeds has spread rapidly, even to Dol Amroth. But please, do not mistake me and believe that I think ill of you for it; I only wish I had your courage," she finished, almost shyly. My face grew warm, and I was grateful when she changed the subject and declared, "At any rate, we shall have to find you a decent riding outfit as quickly as possible."

"Of course." I ventured another smile; though she was much more talkative than I was accustomed to, being used to the company of men, she seemed unafraid to speak her mind and I liked that. I lapsed into silence then, content to ride quietly while Amrothos and Faramir discussed matters of state behind us, with Lothiríel occasionally interjecting some comment.

It was not much longer before we reached the Houses, and Faramir quickly dismounted and walked over to assist me off of Windfola's back once I managed to disentangle my skirt from the pommel again. Fortunately for my dignity, the process went much smoother than it had on our previous ride, but I still could not help thinking that the fulfillment of Lothiríel's offer to help me find an actual riding skirt could not come too soon. Once I was safely on the ground, Faramir allowed his hands to linger at my waist as he said, "I cannot thank you enough for your help today, Éowyn."

"I am glad I was able to be of assistance," I answered, smiling at him, though my reaction was tempered by self-consciousness at parting with him in front of his cousins. It seemed that he sensed my hesitation, for he quickly released me.

From where he still sat on his horse, Amrothos nodded his head politely. "It was a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lady Éowyn," he said.

Lothiríel's expression was warmer as she added, "Indeed, it was. Might I call on you sometime tomorrow? I fear that I shall only get in my kinsmen's way if I remain in the Citadel while they work."

"Of course," I answered, unable to repress a smile at her forthright manner.

"And I shall also call on you, if I am able," Faramir said, taking my hand and kissing it lightly before raising his eyes to mine once more. "Good evening, Éowyn."

"Good evening," I replied, impulsively kissing him on the cheek. Faramir's expression brightened, and he squeezed my hand briefly before releasing it. Then he turned and remounted Wildfire, giving me one last smile before the party continued on their way to the Citadel. Once they were out of sight, I turned and went back into the Houses, knowing it was time for me to return to my duty as well.

* * *

_Just jumping straight to the responses..._

_**Deandra- **Wish granted. ;) It probably wasn't the best chapter title for me to pick, but I was drawing a complete blank. I hate coming up with titles. :P And the bit with Merry was a last-minute addition, so I'm glad it works. Also, I tried not to make my Lothiriel_ too_ much like yours, so I apologize if I did (and please tell me if I did-- I'm trying not to plagarize you:)_

_**Linda- **That would have been good, wouldn't it? Although I doubt even Aragorn would have been able to help every single man wounded in that battle, since he got so worn out just helping Faramir. And thanks for the welcome back. :)_

_**LimeJuiceTub**- I would hardly say brilliant :D, but thanks. And I'm glad that it seems like they're getting more relaxed around each other-- it is a little difficult without making the speech casual._

_**Tracey- **Well, hopefully now that I'm just working, I won't have any major issues like that for awhile. :D And I wish that too... would be quite nice... (sigh)_

_**Chou-fleur- **Might be because it was a loooooong time between updates. :P But thanks!_

_**Dimfuin- **I hadn't intended to end it there, though I guess I could have. I have too many loose ends I want to deal with first though. And hope this is quick enough for you. :)_

_**Rosie- **Like I said, probably because it had been at least that long since I updated, so I doubt you're behind. :P And I'm glad you like how Eowyn's turning out here. It's been an interesting challenge, writing her when she's not angsting all the time like she does in the book. ;)_

_**Nyeren- **Don't think I've met you before, so hi! I'm glad you enjoyed it. And thanks! It does feel really good to be done, finally._

_**Umino-gaara- **I just couldn't resist putting the half-asleep!Faramir in there. :D So I'm glad you liked that._


	26. Chapter 26: Words Unspoken

**A/N (from 10/16/06): _I've slightly revised this chapter, after thinking through a couple of comments about Lothiriel's conversation with Eowyn in the dress shop and relalizing there was some inconsistency with later chapters in that. The results are the same, but the context is slightly altered now. So I hope that clears up any confusion._**

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**Chapter 26- Words Unspoken**

Lothiríel made her promised visit shortly after the noon meal the next day. I found her company surprisingly pleasant. She seemed to be a bit shocked at the state of Minas Tirith—she confessed to me that her own city had been relatively untouched by the war—but she had an irrepressible cheerful streak that made it difficult for her to be dispirited for long. After so much time spent among the more somber healers recently, Lothiríel's company was quite refreshing.

She had confided to me that she felt rather useless around the Citadel, since there was really nothing she could do to aid her cousin and her brother in their attempts to bring all of the various matters of the city and the surrounding lands under control. I could understand her restlessness, and so it did not take much effort to convince her to come back and visit as often as she wished. But when I found myself being herded into a seamstress's shop the following morning, I could not help wondering if that had been such a good idea.

Lothiríel had insisted that we go so that I could get a new riding outfit. "It really is not necessary to go to all this trouble," I said, glancing back uneasily at the Citadel Guards that had accompanied us to ensure our safety, at Faramir's and Amrothos's insistence. "Surely it would be easier to just split one of the skirts the healers provided…"

"Nonsense," Lothiríel said, dismissing my protest immediately. "That would never work with the current fashions of Gondor. The skirts are narrower than those of your people, I believe, and you would not be able to sit comfortably in them if you divided one. And I would simply let you borrow one of mine if I could, but obviously that will not work," she added, her sky-blue eyes sparkling with mischief. I smiled ruefully, knowing she spoke truly; I stood a full head taller than she. "No, we shall just have to have one made for you. Besides, surely you need something to wear for the journey home!"

I frowned, unable to deny that she _did_ have a point. Even if the healers had kept the clothing I had borrowed from my brother, which I found highly doubtful, I knew that Éomer would never allow me to wear such things in front of the entire host of the Rohirrim now that my identity was known to them. _No, I cannot get out of this,_ I decided, resigning myself to my fate as Lothiríel took my elbow and steered me through the doorway.

Once inside, I could not help feeling intimidated; I had never seen a shop such as this in my life. Lengths of finely woven cloth were neatly folded and stacked on a nearby table, while finished samples of clothing hung about the room. I must have had a strange expression on my face, because Lothiríel lowered her voice and asked, "Do they not have shops like this in Rohan?"

"No," I answered. "Not that I am aware of. Those who are skilled at weaving cloth often trade their wares in exchange for grain or other necessities. And during my time in Edoras, the royal household has always had a tailor who took care of such things; I would be given only a few choices in cloth for my garments."

"The tailors that serve my father's household do the same," Lothiríel admitted. "But I go to the shops instead, when I can; the things that the merchant ships bring in are often much more interesting." She grinned at me as a portly middle-aged woman, who seemed to run the shop, came out from a back room with a young raven-haired woman in tow.

"Good day, my ladies," she said, bowing her head while regarding me with open curiosity. I kept my gaze steady, realizing that she must have at least heard the rumors about how I had come to the city. "How may I be of assistance?"

Thankfully, Lothiríel answered for me. "We wish to have a riding outfit made for the Lady Éowyn," she said.

"Very good, my lady," the woman answered, reaching into a pocket of an apron she wore around her waist and drawing out a coiled-up cord. "I shall just have to take some measurements first, of course. Have you picked out some cloth?"

"I have not yet had the opportunity," I answered tentatively.

Lothiríel fixed a solemn gaze on the woman. "Before we begin with that, I would also like to specify that the skirt is to be divided."

The woman paused, then answered, "My lady?" glancing over at me uncertainly.

"My saddle requires it," I answered bluntly.

Lothiríel's eyes were sparkling, but she kept her face solemn as she added, "'Tis a custom among our friends from the North; the ladies ride astride as well as the men. I believe I failed to mention that the lady is the sister of Rohan's king, and I am certain that you do not wish to offend…"

The older woman's face visibly paled. "Of course not," she answered swiftly.

"I did not believe so," Lothiríel said evenly, a gracious smile crossing her face.

"I must see to figuring out the skirt," she answered. "Please, feel free to take as much time as you wish in choosing the cloth. If you need any assistance, I shall be in the back. Come, Elwen." She hastily retreated, the apprentice seamstress following after a quick curtsey.

Lothiríel and I glanced at each other; she covered her hand with her mouth to stifle a giggle, and I was forced to look away as my own laughter threatened to nearly choke me. "I believe you frightened the poor woman half out of her wits, Lothiríel," I finally said once I felt capable of speaking again.

"I was merely trying to be diplomatic," she replied, still trying not to burst out laughing. "But come, we must choose some cloth for you; the sooner this dress is made, the sooner we can go riding!"

I needed no further incentive to begin searching through the piles of cloth, eager to make a choice and leave the shop. It did not take me long to find a length of brown linen that I thought would do nicely for the skirt and bodice. Lothiríel, in the meantime, had been searching for something suitable for the tunic. I left the cloth I had chosen lying on the table and walked over towards her. Her brow was furrowed, and she looked deep in thought as she perused the selection. "Have you found anything?" I asked.

"There was some green silk that would look quite lovely on you, but I do not think it would be at all suitable for a longer journey," she answered. Then her eyes lit up and a devious grin crossed her face. "This would be perfect!" she exclaimed, holding up a length of cloth that was the color of the sky at twilight.

I fingered the fabric gingerly; it felt sturdy enough that it would not get completely ruined on a ride, I decided, but it was still soft to the touch. "Yes, that would be good," I replied suspiciously. "But why do you say it like that?"

"It seems that my cousin is quite fond of this color," she said, smiling. "At least, I have heard him say so on previous visits to Dol Amroth, and I am quite certain he would greatly enjoy seeing you in it."

"Oh." I glanced down, feeling a bit awkward. I was certain that my face was growing red again as I wondered if his regard for me was completely obvious to everyone, since she had seemed to pick up on it so quickly.

Lothiríel quickly apologized. "I did not mean to imply that you have to take it," she said. "If you do not like it, we can keep looking."

"No, it will do quite nicely, I believe," I quickly said. I knew I was being foolish—after all, I could not expect to know everything about him after so short a time, no matter how much I cared for him. Even as the thought crossed my mind, I suddenly realized that though he had said as much to me many times, I had never told him how I felt about him at all. I cared about Faramir, I knew that. _But if I truly loved him, it would be easier to tell him, would it not?_ I wondered as a tiny seed of doubt began to take root in my mind.

"Good," Lothiríel said, smiling again. If she sensed my discomfort, it did not show in her expression at all. "I suppose we had better finish this up, then." With that, we made the arrangements for the outfit to be made and left.

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Throughout the rest of the day, and for several days afterwards, my conversation with Lothiríel continued to haunt me. The more I thought about it, the more I realized just how little I truly knew about Faramir; after all, I had not even known him for a month. And though he made every attempt to visit me as often as possible, and assured me that he would be at liberty to spend more time with me once the reports that had piled up during the days prior to the siege and throughout his recovery were all taken care of, it seemed that even with Amrothos's aid I never had more than a few moments with him at a time. I could not rid myself of the nagging doubt that perhaps once again I had fooled myself into believing that I felt more than I truly did, though I fervently hoped that was not the case. I did not want to hurt Faramir by being unable to return his love.

I did my best to keep myself from dwelling on such thoughts through my work with the healers, though spending so much time around the wounded and sick often made it difficult to keep my spirits up. Finally, just when I was certain I could bear it no longer, Bergil returned from the Citadel one afternoon, accompanied by one of the guards and bearing the message that "the Lords Faramir and Amrothos, and the Lady Lothiríel, wish to know if they might have the pleasure of your company at supper tonight." After speaking with Ioreth in order to ensure that I could be released from my duties early, I quickly agreed, and the guard escorted me to the Citadel.

It seemed that my arrival had been anticipated; Lothiríel met me almost the moment I entered. After we had exchanged greetings, I said, "It was very kind of you to invite me here."

"Oh, it was entirely Faramir's idea," she replied cheerfully. "And he has also requested that he wishes to speak with you in private before supper—he said he wishes to show you something. I believe he is still in his study, if you wish to go to him now."

"Yes, thank you," I said, my curiosity aroused.

"I will take my leave then," she answered with a grin. She paused, then added, "Do you know how to get there?"

"I believe so," I replied, "though I am certain that if I lose my way, there will be enough guards or servants around to direct me."

"Very well. I will see you at supper, then." With that, she turned and left, leaving me to find my way through the winding halls of the Citadel.

I remembered the way to Faramir's study surprisingly well, considering I had only been there on one occasion. Once there, I paused in front of the door, feeling suddenly hesitant to see him. Then, scowling at my unfounded fears, I knocked firmly.

Faramir opened the door a few moments later, smiling brightly when he saw me. "Éowyn! I am glad you came," he said, taking my hand in his. I forced a smile, but did not answer. "Is something the matter?" he asked, his voice softening as his smile faded somewhat.

"No," I quickly answered. "No, I am fine."

He did not believe me; I could tell by the intense look in his eyes as his studied my face. But he did not press the issue, thankfully. "Come with me," he finally said. "There is something I wish to show you."

His steady grip on my hand made me feel even more agitated as he led me through the marble halls of the Citadel, his footfalls barely making a sound on the polished floors. My own steps sounded dreadfully loud to my ears in comparison, and this did nothing to calm me. Finally, Faramir stopped in front of a plain wooden door in a darkened hall; he seemed to sense my distress as he turned to me and asked, "Éowyn, do you trust me?"

"You know that I do," I answered.

"Then please, close your eyes," he said. I furrowed my brow, looking at him curiously, but he merely smiled in return, and so I complied without further question.

He released my hand, and I heard a faint click as he unlocked the door, and a harsh squeak as he opened it; it sounded as if the room had been unused for quite some time. This left me feeling oddly reassured as I felt his hand wrap around mine once more, and he gently pulled me forward a few steps.

To my surprise, I could feel a light breeze upon my skin. "May I open them yet?" I asked.

"In a moment," Faramir promised. I heard the squeaking noise again, fainter this time, then the door closing. Then I felt his hands upon my shoulders, carefully turning me around.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

He did not remove his hands from my shoulders, and I could sense him standing close behind me. "You may open your eyes now," he answered.

As I opened them, I gasped at the sight. We were standing in a small courtyard, enclosed on three sides by a wall that stood about half my height, though climbing vines obscured much of the stone. I briefly twisted my head around to look behind me, and could see the wall of the Citadel itself enclosing the fourth side. Unlike the main courtyard of the Citadel, a thick carpet of tall grass covered the ground. I could see a few planting beds similar to the ones in the gardens at the Houses of Healing; though they were overgrown, there were a few patches of color from the wildflowers that were just beginning to bloom. There was a fountain standing off to one side, and I could hear the steady splash of water as it flowed into the stone-surrounded basin below. Though it had obviously been untended for quite some time, I could see a sort of wild beauty in it that reminded me strangely of my homeland; my heart ached at the sight.

But what really took my breath away was the view. We were high enough that the wall blocked out the view of the white stone buildings; all I could see were the fields of the Pelennor spreading out before me, the waters of the Anduin shining golden in the late afternoon sunlight as it wove its way towards the sea, and further south to the plains beyond. "This is beautiful," I finally said, unable to take my eyes away from the view; for the first time since I had come to Minas Tirith, I could almost forget that I was in a city.

"I thought that you would like it," Faramir said softly, releasing my arms and stepping forward so that he was standing beside me. We stood in silence for a long moment, looking out over the fields. The scarred earth was beginning to turn green again, save for further away from the city, where it appeared that Gondor's farmers were beginning to sow a late crop. I could not help wondering if my people were doing the same at home, and I was so lost in this thought that I did not hear Faramir speaking my name until he took my hand again.

"Forgive me," I said, turning towards him. "What did you say?"

"What is wrong, Éowyn?" he asked.

"Nothing," I answered, forcing a smile but not really looking at him. "It reminds me a little of home; that is all. I would not think of a place like this within the Citadel," I added, deciding to change the subject as I walked towards the fountain and sat down on the cool stone wall surrounding it.

"There are few who know of it," he answered, a far-off look on his face as he sat down next to me. "My father had it built for my mother, shortly after they married; she found it difficult to bear, living under the shadow of the East, and so he wished to give her a place where she could look towards her homeland to the South. After she passed away, he ordered for the door to be locked, and that no one be allowed to enter."

"Why would he do such a thing?" I asked, wondering yet again how someone who seemed so stern and unyielding could have sired a man like Faramir.

Faramir glanced down. "I have heard it said many times that he loved her dearly, after his own fashion. It always seemed to Boromir and I that, after she died, he could not bear the presence of anything that reminded him of her.. I have always wondered why, if he loved her so greatly, he would wish to forget her." He paused, then looked up at me. "I think that perhaps I am beginning to understand; I know not if I would be able to bear such a loss."

Though I could see conflicting emotions on his face, as he had temporarily allowed the careful control he normally kept over his expression to slip, it was the love I could clearly see in his eyes that left me feeling overwhelmed. _He deserves so much more,_ I could not help thinking, and I looked down at my hands in my lap, unable to bear the look in his eyes.

Immediately, I could feel his hand on my arm. "Éowyn? What troubles you?" he asked. I shook my head in reply, afraid to speak. "If I said anything to offend you, I would have you tell…" he continued.

I glanced up briefly, laying a finger against his lips to silence him. "Nay, Faramir, you did not offend," I interrupted, then glanced down again. "But please, do not look at me like that!"

Faramir furrowed his brow, clearly confused. "I had no intention of…"

"Can you not see?" I asked, growing increasingly agitated as I pulled away from him, fidgeting with the loosened edges of the linen strips that still bound my arm. "You did nothing wrong, Faramir, save to give your attentions to one unworthy of such devotion."

"Éowyn," he said, but I continued as if I had not heard him. "You deserve better than an ill-mannered woman of the North who can slay orcs, but who cannot find the courage or the words to tell you that she loves you."

"Éowyn," he tried again, this time reaching for my hand. His fingers lightly caressed my palm, and the gesture both warmed me and increased my sense of guilt. "If there is something bothering you, please tell me."

I could not look at him; I did not wish him to see the tears that I felt pricking at my eyes. "I do love you, Faramir, I truly do," I said. "I realize that now, and I know that I should have told you sooner. I wanted to, but I could never quite seem to find the words."

"Is this what has been troubling you? That you did not say anything sooner?"

"Yes," I answered, glancing down and fidgeting with the bandage strips. "I know it is probably foolish of me, but you have told me so often that you love me; I feared that since I could never bring myself to tell you the same, that I did not love you. I had no wish to hurt you by being unable to return your love, Faramir." I knew all too well what that was like, I silently added. "But neither did I want to say I did if I was not completely sure it was true. I wanted it to be true, but…" my voice trailed off as I fumbled for what to say next.

Faramir took my hand in both of his, "You truly mean this?"

I lifted my head so I could look him in the eyes. "With all my heart," I said, quietly but firmly.

When he spoke again, his voice was steady, though his entire face lit up with joy at my words. "Then why should I fault you for wishing to be certain of your feelings before expressing them to me? You have often told me yourself that you wished for plain speech and honest words; I would rather you not say anything than believe you were not speaking the truth." Faramir smiled then, and added, "Though I am glad that you said it."

I finally relaxed then, feeling as if a great weight had been lifted from me. For a moment I debated telling him why I had hesitated—that I was so accustomed to being told I could not love or be loved by another that I had truly begun to believe it—but had no wish to spoil the joyful moment by speaking of the darkness in my past. _I will tell him someday,_ I resolved. _But not yet. _So instead, I smiled in return. "So am I," I answered. "And thank you for being so understanding."

"I have a confession to make as well," he said, his hand lightly caressing mine. "I never doubted that you loved me."

"You did not?" I asked, surprised.

A rueful smile twitched at the corner of his mouth. "Perhaps for a little while after I left the Houses, but not since that day I came back to see you."

My face grew warm at the memory of our kiss atop the garden wall, but the thought made me smile again. "Then perhaps I should ensure that you have no more reason to doubt," I teased, kissing him lightly.

Faramir smiled and pulled me closer as he returned the kiss with an intensity that had not been there before. It both exhilarated and frightened me; he seemed to sense this, and began to pull back a little. I suddenly realized that I did not want it to end so quickly, and laid my hand on his shoulder to stop him. For a brief moment, my eyes met his, then he smiled and closed the distance between us once more, drawing me further into his embrace as I returned the kiss with a fervor that I had not known that I possessed.

Eventually I pulled back, and he immediately loosened his hold on me. Then he moved his arms around my waist, pulling me closer again. I relaxed and leaned my head against his shoulder, content to leave any further words of love unspoken for the time. I knew he understood, and that was enough.

Later that evening, Faramir and I went down to the courtyard; though he told me he would have wished to stay in the little garden, he needed to go to a place where he could be found if duty required it. The night had taken a cold turn, and so Faramir had sent for the blue star-embroidered cloak for me before we left the Citadel. I had not thought I would need it, but as the breeze picked up, I pulled it a bit tighter, grateful for the warmth. "Are you cold?" Faramir asked as we walked.

"Not very much," I answered. "Thank you for lending the cloak to me again; it does help."

"Éowyn," he said, stopping and taking both of my hands in his, "I want you to keep it."

"But, Faramir, this belonged to your mother," I protested. "I cannot…"

He placed a finger on my lips to silence me. "I believe that she would wish you to have it," he said.

"All right, if you are certain that you do not mind parting with it," I replied.

"I am." Faramir released one of my hands, moving his hand to rest against my cheek. "Though I cannot say I would be parting with it forever."

"What?" As I looked up at him, suddenly it sank in that I would be marrying him. The thought made me smile, then all of a sudden I burst out laughing. When he gave me a questioning look, I added, "It is still strange for me to think about, that we will be wed. Though, it is hardly an unpleasant thing to think of."

"That is good to hear," he replied, laughing. Then his face grew more serious as he added, "To tell you the truth, I cannot yet say we are officially betrothed. I do wish to speak to your brother first."

I furrowed my brow and asked, "But your cousins? Do they not know?"

A hint of mischief appeared in his eyes. "Only that I love you. I have not said anything beyond that to them."

"Oh," I said, surprised.

"I would not be surprised if Thíri has already guessed that I wish to marry you," he added with a laugh.

"She has hinted at it," I admitted. "She was not exactly subtle about it either."

Faramir smirked, then his expression grew serious again as he said, "I knew that you would want Éomer to be the first to know."

I smiled up at him gratefully. "Thank you. That means a great deal to me."

"I had no intention of doing otherwise," he answered, then kissed me once more. "I love you," he repeated as he pulled back.

"I know," I answered, tightening my arms around him once more. "I love you, too."


	27. Chapter 27: Reunions

**_A/N: Bet you all thought I forgot about this story, didn't you? No, I am still planning on finishing it. This chapter was just very difficult for me to write for some reason, and the more I delayed, the harder it got. To me, this chapter seems to be just neccessary filler that needed to happen before I can get to some other things, so I apologize if it seems slow. And twofold thanks to Deandra, for prodding me into finishing this chapter and agreeing to beta-read it for me._**

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**Chapter 27- Reunions**

As the days passed, life fell into a comfortable routine. I would spend the days working with the healers, and the few free afternoons I had were usually spent in Lothiríel's company. Faramir was still quite busy putting the city in order, but with Amrothos's help, he was able to find a little time nearly every evening to spend with me. Most of that time was spent simply talking and getting to know one another better. And as I learned more about Faramir, my love for him continued to grow, so much so that I could not help wondering how I could have ever believed myself to be in love with Aragorn. Whatever I thought I had felt for him, it was a mere shadow compared to what I felt when I was with Faramir.

Though I was grateful for the time spent with him, however, I was becoming increasingly restless with each passing day. And though I tried to hide it, lest Faramir think he was the source of the problem, it soon became apparent that I could not conceal it from him. We were walking through Finduilas's garden in the Citadel early one evening, neither of us saying much, when he looked over at me and said, "You seem troubled."

"A little, perhaps," I answered, walking over towards the wall and leaning my arms on the top of it.

"Is something wrong?" Faramir asked as he moved to stand next to me.

I gave him a sad half-smile. "I am not certain," I replied. He gave me a questioning look, and I quickly added, "But it is not you, Faramir." He smiled a bit at this, but waited patiently for me to continue.

I began pacing a bit as I talked. "I have not heard from Éomer since I sent Éothain back to him. I cannot help wondering if he is still angry with me for staying."

"I doubt that," Faramir replied, grabbing my arm lightly and forcing me to pause and look at him. "I would be quite surprised if he was even angry with you when he sent his request in the first place. I can only guess at what he is thinking since I do not know him, nor did I have a sister, but it seems to me that he was more concerned to see for himself whether you were well than anything else."

"But he must think that I do not wish to see him," I answered sadly. "We have never fought for so long before."

"Then perhaps he is only waiting for you to make the first move, Éowyn," he said gently, taking both of my hands in his.

"Perhaps so." I looked up, a new determination rising within me to resolve things with my brother as soon as possible. "I shall have to find a way to send a message to him, then. Do you know if the armies are still at Cormallen?"

Faramir smiled. "I had wanted to tell you earlier, but I wanted to be certain that you were all right first," he answered. "A messenger arrived just before I sent for you. The armies are returning, and they should be arriving two days from now."

"Really?" A smile lit up my face at the thought of seeing Éomer again. "This is wonderful news! And I can hardly wait for you to meet him, Faramir. I do hope that you and he will get along."

"From what you have told me, he is a good, fair man," Faramir replied, smiling warmly at me. "I am certain that we will get along just fine."

"He can be a little protective of me, though, especially about other men," I warned him. _With good reason,_ I added silently, a prick of guilt stabbing me as I remembered I had not yet told Faramir about Wormtongue. But just as quickly, I decided that there would be time for that later. "I hope he will not give you too much of a hard time about this."

"Éowyn," he said, his grey-blue eyes looking deeply into mine, "I swear to you that I will do whatever I must to win your brother's consent. And you are worth any amount of trouble that Éomer, or anyone else in Rohan or Gondor, could give me."

"Thank you," I replied softly, a soft smile returning to my face. "That means a great deal."

Faramir pressed a light kiss against my forehead, smiling at me as he withdrew, then slipped his arm around my waist as I rested my head lightly against his shoulder. After awhile, I looked up and asked, "Will everything be ready in time for their arrival, do you think?" Over the last several days, large numbers of people from the surrounding towns and provinces of Gondor, as well as the last of the refugees from Minas Tirith itself, had been pouring into the city to await the coming of their King. Even with the reduced population of the White City's latter days, Faramir and the other officials had been hard-pressed to find accommodations for them all.

"It should be," Faramir replied. "I know that the returning armies will remain encamped on the Pelennor, so there is no need to find room for the new arrivals to sleep, and all is set in order for the coronation. Unless there is some other long-buried custom, without which the rightful King cannot be properly crowned, that has been completely overlooked by both myself and Amrothos, not to mention the eldest and wisest of the loremasters of Gondor," he added, shaking his head.

I rolled my eyes slightly. "Yes, I can imagine that with all the ceremony needed to make a Steward, crowning a King in this land would be a logistical nightmare."

Faramir smiled, looking amused. "Well, my lady, your people need not fear that the entire event will be completely solemn. Once the initial ceremony is out of the way, I am certain that there will be enough celebrating and feasting to keep many a Rider satisfied."

"Perhaps so," I replied with a grin. "But can you be certain that we will leave enough of the feast for your people to enjoy themselves as well?"

"I have no doubt of that," Faramir said. Then a wicked gleam lit his eyes as he added with a chuckle, "Unless our dear friends from the Shire get to it first." I burst out laughing at this as he pulled me into his arms, and it was long before any thought of Éomer, or how he would react to Faramir, crossed my mind again that evening.

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The evening before the armies were scheduled to arrive, Faramir sent a message saying that he had been summoned to meet Aragorn at their encampment the next day in order to report on the progress made in rebuilding the city, as well as to work out the final details of the coronation. He wanted to know if I wished to go as well, to see if I could speak with Éomer. I readily accepted the offer, though I could not help feeling apprehensive about actually going to the camp. After all, I had parted with my brother on such ill terms, not to mention that the thought of possibly running into Aragorn again was renewing the shame I felt over how deceived I had been in my feelings for him. I still had a tiny, nagging doubt in the back of my mind about how I would react when I saw him once more, and how that would affect my still-new relationship with Faramir. But at the same time, I was determined not to let these fears stand in the way of the chance to reconcile things with Éomer.

As it turned out, the party that was to ride out to the camp had expanded. Faramir had decided to leave the city in the charge of Lord Húrin for the day, and Amrothos had agreed to assist him, but Lothiríel refused to be left behind as well. She told me she had not seen her father or her brother Erchirion since they had ridden to war, and I could perfectly understand her wish to see for herself that they were both well. Besides the three of us, Elfhelm had received a summons from Éomer, and when I saw him in the stable preparing to ride out I immediately asked him to join us. My motives were purely selfish, of course; I hoped he would be willing to assist me in finding an opportunity to speak with my brother. And, though it pained me to admit it, I was much less apprehensive about going to see him in the company of one of my countrymen than alone with Faramir. That would complicate the situation even more, if Éomer suspected that our relationship ran deeper than the most basic of friendships.

Despite my qualms about that, since propriety demanded that we should maintain our distance—and particularly because Faramir and I had agreed that it would be best if we took care not to show much affection towards each other in public until we had a chance to approach my brother and obtain his blessing—I could not help wishing for his company as we rode out of the city towards the encampment that had been hastily erected late on the previous day. Faramir had grudgingly agreed to an escort, though he only allowed three of the Citadel guards to accompany him, and was riding near the front of the group just behind the black-clad soldiers. Elfhelm and I rode behind, also accompanied by two of the Rohirrim that had been laboring in the first circle. Lothiríel had refused Amrothos's offer of a guard and insisted that she would be sufficiently protected since all the party she rode with would be proven warriors; after saying this, she directed a mischievous smile at me when her brother was not looking. She stayed close to me as we rode as if she hoped to relieve my obvious apprehension, making a valiant attempt to distract me with tales of life in Dol Amroth. As much as I appreciated her efforts, they were completely wasted on me, and she eventually lapsed into silence.

Finally, we reached the camp, making our slow way through the soldiers there. Faramir occasionally called out a greeting to one or other of the men who hailed him joyfully; I could only assume that they had served under his command. I could not help but notice the whispers among the men, especially those of the North, as I rode past. It appeared to me that Lothiríel had never been to a soldiers' camp before; she seemed a little uncomfortable with all the attention and, whether she realized it or not, let her horse fall back a little more towards the guards. Upon dismounting, Faramir immediately moved towards the large pavilion that stood near the center of the camp and began speaking with the guards outside. I dismounted from Windfola's back and fidgeted with the reins that I now held loosely in my hands, uncertain of what to do next. Elfhelm, who had just dismounted from his own horse, turned towards me and said, "It might be best if you wait here, my lady. I do not know if Lord Éomer will wish to stay to hear Lord Faramir's report or not."

"Very well," I replied, though I could feel my insides twisting in knots at the thought of delaying our meeting; I just wanted to get it over with.

"Marshal Elfhelm!" I heard Faramir call out as he approached the two of us. "I have been told that your King is currently with the Lords Aragorn and Imrahil. Would you prefer to accompany us now, or wait until he is finished?"

Elfhelm looked over at me, then answered simply, "I will go now, if that is all right, my lord."

"It is." Faramir indicated for him to follow; before he turned to go, his eyes briefly met mine and he gave me a reassuring smile. I returned it as best as I could, then returned to my fidgeting as soon as he had gone.

Lothiríel gave me a sympathetic smile, then politely bid me goodbye; she was anxious to seek out her brother Erchirion, which I could understand perfectly. Then she left, escorted by one of the Gondorian guards. I stood there uncomfortably for a long moment. As anxious as I was to see my brother, I was suddenly all too aware that Aragorn was with him, and I was no longer certain that I was ready to face him again. Especially not with Faramir around. But in the end, my curiosity and desire to reconcile things with Éomer won out over my apprehension. I looked over at the Rohirric guards, who were occupied with guarding their horses, as well as mine and Elfhelm's; they did not appear to pay attention at all as I approached the spacious tent where the leaders of the West were meeting.

As I drew closer, I could hear the customary formalities being exchanged. I could also hear Éomer's voice naturally projecting above the others as he greeted Faramir politely, and with a good deal more enthusiasm in his tone as he greeted Elfhelm. I was surprised when shortly thereafter, he asked, "My lords, if these matters do not concern Rohan I would like to request permission to withdraw. I have much that I need to discuss with my Marshall."

"Most of my report deals with the progress in rebuilding the city and the surrounding areas," Faramir stated. "And there are a few matters regarding tomorrow's ceremony that need to be discussed, but I do not believe there are any changes regarding your people, my lord."

"And if there are, I will be certain to send word. You have my permission to go, Éomer." That voice was Aragorn's, I was certain of it. Though his words were formal, there was a warmth in his tone that told me that my brother and the soon-to-be King of Gondor had become fast friends by this point. I tried not to think of all the possible ways that this could complicate things as Éomer bid the others farewell.

Realizing I was about to be caught eavesdropping, I hastily moved away from the entrance, peering around the side of the tent as Elfhelm and Éomer stepped outside. Once the tent flap had closed behind them, Elfhelm turned to my brother and said, "My lord, before I give you my report, it is my duty to inform you that you have a visitor." I wondered if he knew where I had concealed myself, or if it was just my imagination that his gaze moved past Éomer towards my tent corner.

"Can it not wait?" Éomer groaned. "From what little I have heard, it will likely take us the next three days, at least, to sort through the state of affairs in Rohan and whatever else needs to be done before we depart. We have but a few hours' time today, if that."

"She was most insistent, my lord." This time, there was no mistaking the twinkle in Elfhelm's eyes as he looked towards me.

"She?" Éomer repeated, surprise and hope mingled in his tone. I could put it off no longer. I gathered my courage and stepped out into the open just before Éomer turned towards me. "Good day, brother," I said softly.

For a moment, Éomer looked as if he scarcely believed it was truly me. Then his face lit up in a wide grin. "Éowyn!" he exclaimed, rushing over and pulling me into a wild embrace that lifted me off my feet and spun me around; as he did so, I barely noticed that Elfhelm politely backed off, joining the other Rohirrim by the horses. For that moment, he was not the acting King of Rohan and I was no longer the wayward soldier who had failed to follow orders and was awaiting her doom; we were simply brother and sister again, the way it had been in that nearly-forgotten time before Théoden's decline. Once my feet were on the ground once more, he asked anxiously, "I did not hurt you, did I?"

"No, Éomer," I said, my face relaxing into a smile, "my arm does not trouble me any longer. The healers have finally given me leave to go without my sling."

"Good, good, I am glad to hear it. But tell me, Éowyn," he said as he pulled me away from the tent, his eyes still searching my face anxiously, "how are you faring?"

I knew that he was concerned over much more than my health, and I rested my hand on his arm in an attempt to set his mind at ease. "It has been difficult," I replied before raising my eyes to his and continuing, "but I believe I am very nearly well, save one thing only."

"And what is that?" Éomer's grey eyes were clouded with worry.

"I need to ask your forgiveness, Éomer." I bowed my head and continued, "You were right. I disobeyed orders and forsook my duty to my king and my people. I have regretted the pain I caused you ever since you rode to the battle." I swallowed hard, then lifted my eyes to his. "And I will willingly bear whatever punishment you deem appropriate upon our return to Rohan."

Éomer blinked in disbelief. "Éowyn," he said, "did you really think I was going to punish you for this?" I looked down again. "After Merry arrived in Cormallen without you, and then Éothain came back without you…" He paused, running a hand through his hair. I glanced up, sensing that whatever he had to say was difficult for him; though he could certainly speak his mind with full conviction, Éomer had never been one who could express feelings in words very easily. Finally, he continued in a quieter tone, "After that, I spent a great deal of time speaking with Gandalf and Merry. I think I understand why you did it now. And…I think…if our places had been reversed, it is likely that I would have done the same."

I looked up fully then. "Would you?" I asked.

Éomer shook his head. "I cannot say for certain. I can only begin to imagine what it was like for you, having to spend day after day watching our uncle fall further into darkness, with that—that _thing _always watching you." An angry look crossed his face, followed swiftly by deep regret. "I should have done more to protect you, 'Wyn. Perhaps then it would not have come to this."

"You did all you could," I replied, resting my hand on his arm again. "Your duty was to watch over our people, and mine was to watch over our King. It could not have been any different."

"Perhaps not," he said. "But I still wish that it had not driven you to the battle. I cannot forget the desperation I saw in your eyes the last time I saw you." He looked pained at the memory, but it faded from his expression as he said quietly, "Yet you seem more at peace now than I have seen you in a long time."

"And that is why I cannot truly say I regret coming here," I replied, then nodded towards where Elfhelm was still waiting. "I have much I need to tell you, Éomer, but I think it shall have to wait until you are more at liberty. It is too long a tale for now, especially since you have your duty to attend to."

Éomer sighed heavily. "I suppose you are right. I am beginning to wish that Théoden or Théodred had informed me of how much work being a king involved!" A humorless smirk crossed his face for a moment before he admitted, "There is so much about it that I never even considered. "I wonder sometimes if I am equal to the task."

"Uncle Théoden believed you were," I said softly. "And he would not have entrusted this to you if he did not believe you could do it."

He smirked slightly. "That sounds familiar."

"And it is the truth," I insisted.

"And I suppose I should get back to it," he said reluctantly, "though I hate to leave you alone here."

"Do not worry, brother," I said. "I will not run off again."

"Even so," he replied, "I have a feeling that this is going to take awhile." Suddenly, he grinned. "And I know a certain _holbytla_ who will never forgive me if he learns you were here and he was not informed."

"Merry is here?" I exclaimed. "I would like to see him again, if I could."

"And that can be arranged easily enough," Éomer said. He went to speak to Elfhelm for a moment, then returned. "I have a good guess as to where he might be. Shall we go?"

I nodded, and we began walking through the encampment. As we walked, I noticed that several of the younger soldiers, both Rohirric and Gondorian alike, were openly staring at me, while some of the older ones murmured among themselves just as they had upon my arrival at the camp. "Why does everyone keep looking at me, Éomer?" I asked quietly. "Surely it has not been so long since any of them saw a woman!"

"No, it seems your reputation as the one who slew the Captain of the Dark Lord's armies spread quite rapidly. I know that among our people, at least, they hail you as a hero." He smiled wryly and added, "My sister, the war hero. I never would have guessed that such a thing would come to pass."

"Neither would I," I replied softly.

We fell silent then, until I spotted four small figures sitting outside of one of the tents. Éomer turned to me and grinned, a mischievous gleam in his eyes. "Wait here," he said, motioning for me to move behind one of the tents, then headed for the Halflings. "Meriadoc!" he called out in a stern voice.

I watched as one of the hobbits jumped to his feet, then bowed. "My Lord Éomer," he said respectfully, then added, "how may I be of service?"

"I have a duty for you to perform, Merry," Éomer said, a completely serious look on his face. Merry looked at him questioningly, and Éomer continued, "I need you to keep one of my Riders entertained while I attend to some business."

Merry looked distinctly confused now. "My lord?" he asked, then shrugged it off. "Well, I'll do my best. Who is it?"

I could resist no longer. "Dernhelm," I called out, stepping into view.

Merry's face lit up. "Éowyn!" he called out, running towards me. I knelt down so I would be on his level, and he gave me an enthusiastic hug. "It's wonderful to see you!"

"It is good to see you again as well, Merry," I replied, smiling as he pulled back.

"How are you? Oh, I didn't hurt your arm, did I? How's Faramir? Is he here too?"

I held up my hands, laughing at the barrage of questions. Clearly, in spite of how troubled he had been when he left Minas Tirith, Merry was back to his old self. "I am well, my arm has healed, and yes, Faramir is here as well, though he is currently meeting with Lord Aragorn," I replied.

"Faramir?" Éomer asked, raising an eyebrow at the informality as he looked at me.

I straightened as I replied, "Lord Faramir was recovering from a battle wound in the Houses of Healing while I was there; he and Merry and I spent a good deal of time together before he was released." My face colored slightly despite my best efforts to appear calm, and I hoped it was not too obvious.

"Oh yes, the Steward. So he is a friend of yours?"

Éomer's tone was neutral, but I could not quite read the expression on his face. Did he suspect anything? I wondered. I needed to find a way to tell him about Faramir, and soon, I realized. If I delayed too long and Éomer did guess the truth about my relationship with the Steward, it would cause far too many problems. But it was a conversation far too involved to begin now, and in Merry's presence, so I simply replied, "He has become a good friend, yes."

Éomer nodded slightly, looking thoughtful. "I see." He paused for a moment, then said, "I must return; Marshal Elfhelm will be wondering what has become of me. Merry, I believe that Lady Éowyn's party will be departing the King's pavilion, if you would not mind escorting her there in awhile."

"It would be my pleasure, my lord," Merry replied with a gallant bow that made the smile return to my face. Éomer gave him a solemn nod, though I could tell he was having a difficult time suppressing a laugh from the twinkle in his eyes. As soon as he departed, Merry turned to me and said, "You look like you're doing better."

"I am," I answered. "Though I must say, things in the Houses have been much duller since you left, Merry." A grin flashed across my face briefly, then faded as I asked, "Your friends that were injured—are they well?"

"Oh yes, quite healed," Merry said cheerfully, beginning to walk over to where the other three Halflings were sitting and motioning for me to follow. "I mean, Frodo and Sam are still regaining their strength, but that's to be expected. You remember Pippin, of course." He motioned to one of the hobbits, who grinned at me cheerfully, then indicated each of the others in turn. "And this is Frodo Baggins, and Samwise Gamgee." These two Halflings did look as if they were still healing from a long illness—though, from what little I had heard, I was perhaps not far off the mark in that assessment. Frodo, in particular, looked far older than any of them, and I noticed that his hand was still bandaged. "Frodo, Sam, this is the lady Éowyn of Rohan," Merry added, bringing me out of my thoughts. The two hobbits greeted me kindly enough, though Frodo's smile seemed a bit tired and forced, and Samwise's rather shy.

Merry excused himself from their company then, and the two of us walked a little way off. He told me of the journey to Cormallen and how he had found his friends upon his arrival, and in turn I told him what had passed in the city since his departure, though I was careful to leave the more personal details about myself and Faramir out of it. Even so, once I had finished and we had begun the walk back to the pavilion, Merry said, "It seems that you and Faramir have seen a lot of each other since I left."

"Well, we _did_ become friends during your stay, remember?" I gently reminded him, hoping the sudden warmth I felt in my face would not give too much away.

"Oh, is that all?" Merry asked slyly with a wide grin on his face.

"Merry!" I exclaimed, certain that my face was a deep shade of crimson by this point.

Merry's smile faded. "I hope I didn't offend you," he said earnestly. "It's just, I know he cares about you a great deal, and I thought…"

His voice trailed off, and he looked so forlorn that I sighed. "Merry, I beg you, do not breathe a word of that around anyone, _especially _my brother," I pleaded.

Merry looked more cheerful again, oddly enough. "Does this mean I was right?" he asked innocently.

I laughed out loud at that. "You truly have not changed a bit, Merry."

"And you have not answered my question," he countered with a grin.

Rolling my eyes, I lowered my voice and said, "There is no formal arrangement between us."

"But you _do _have feelings for him," Merry insisted. My face grew hot again, and Merry's grin grew wider. "I knew it!"

"I do not wish to discuss that now," I replied firmly; we were drawing near the pavilion. I was not surprised to see that Éomer was not yet there, as I was certain that he had much to discuss with Elfhelm. When he did come into sight a few minutes later, I was surprised to see that he was accompanied not only by Elfhelm, but he was also walking with Lothiríel and an unfamiliar dark-haired man that I could only assume was her other brother. It seemed that Éomer and the Gondorian had formed at least some acquaintance, as he was talking and laughing with Éomer and Elfhelm while Lothiríel listened attentively, only occasionally offering a comment of her own. It seemed to me that she was intimidated by my brother; it struck me as odd, as I had never yet known her to act so unsure of herself.

Éomer smiled when he saw me and hurried over. "I hope I did not keep you waiting long," he said.

"Not at all; Merry and I were simply catching up," I replied, smiling at the Halfling. Éomer nodded approvingly, and I asked, "And how did your meeting go?"

"We still have much to discuss, my lady," Elfhelm said. "But we have made a beginning."

_Yes, a beginning, _I thought. I knew that it would be quite some time before things were the way they used to be between Éomer and myself, or before I would be able to fully repair the breach I had created between myself and my people, but at least this day's journey had been a start.

Shortly after Lothiríel—who still seemed a good deal more subdued than usual—had introduced her companion as her brother Erchirion, there was a rustling at the entrance to the King's tent and the other guards from the Citadel emerged, followed closely by Faramir and then Prince Imrahil. I was relieved to see that Aragorn did not join them. Upon seeing his daughter, the Prince's eyes lit up, and he quickly moved to embrace her warmly. I stepped away slightly, not wishing to intrude upon the family reunion; Éomer and Elfhelm did the same. Erchirion, on the other hand, stepped forward, grasping Faramir's arm in a soldierly manner before embracing him. "It is wonderful to see you on your feet again, Cousin!" he said enthusiastically. "When we heard you had been wounded, we feared that we had lost you."

"Nay, it seems you shall not be rid of me so easily," Faramir said with one of his rare unguarded smiles. "And what of you? Your father tells me you were wounded at the Gate."

"'Tis but a scratch," Erchirion said lightly, "no matter what he might tell you."

I was surprised to hear Éomer's undignified snort from beside me. "That is not what I heard that you said when they were sewing you up."

Erchirion turned towards him with an exaggerated grimace. "Must you insist on making me look bad in front of the ladies?" he groaned, though I could see a twinkle in his eyes that indicated that this was not the first time they had verbally sparred. It did not surprise me; with his build it seemed that this particular son of Imrahil's was a warrior through and through, which would explain his quick friendship with my brother.

Lothiríel glanced over from where she was talking with her father, a sly grin on her face. "I can hardly be counted in that assessment, brother. I already know all the ill things there are to know about you." Éomer smirked at that, and Lothiríel's face flushed faintly as she turned back towards Imrahil. I briefly grinned to myself, thinking I might need to ask Lothiríel just what, exactly, had passed between her and my brother at some later point.

"All the same, I am glad to see that you are well," Faramir said, interrupting my thoughts and smiling at his cousin. I had been able to see a slight trace of wistfulness in his eyes as he had watched the banter between Erchirion and Lothiríel, and could easily guess that he was thinking of the brother he had lost so recently. But all traces of it were gone now.

"My lord," one of the Gondorian guards spoke up, "should we not return to the city soon? It is getting late."

"Yes, Adrahil," Faramir replied before turning towards the others. "My lords, I fear we are unable to stay any longer today, but I thank you for your time." His eyes briefly met mine, then he purposefully turned towards Lothiríel and asked, "Cousin, may I escort you to your horse?" I understood completely. It was not the time, not until we had spoken to Éomer.

"Of course," Lothiríel replied smoothly, embracing her father and brother one more time before taking the arm that Faramir offered.

"Éowyn?" Éomer asked, offering his arm to me in a similar manner. As I took it, Imrahil smiled at me kindly. "It is good to see you well again, my lady," he said.

"Thank you, my lord," I replied, bowing my head. "And it was a pleasure to meet you, my lord," I added as I looked towards Erchirion.

In reply, Erchirion grinned and took my hand, kissing it lightly. "The pleasure is all mine, my lady," he said.

Faramir's gaze briefly shot over towards his cousin, an unreadable look on his face. Thankfully, Éomer did not seem to notice as he rolled his eyes. "Have a care, man," he groaned. "I am certain you would not wish me to act in such a manner towards _your _sister."

"I am simply being polite, my friend," Erchirion retorted, grinning towards Lothiríel, who merely shook her head.

"Very well," Éomer retorted, laughing. "But I will be watching to make sure it remains just that—politeness!" He grinned at me and added, "Come, sister." I forced a smile back, though I was beginning to wonder what this protectiveness he displayed would mean when I told him about Faramir. I quickly bid farewell to Merry before taking his arm, then remained silent until we reached Windfola. Éomer then turned to me and wrapped his arms around me tightly—a rare display of affection, since we were in public. "I am glad you came today, Éowyn," he said softly to me.

"As am I, Éomer," I replied; as I mounted Windfola and looked back at him, my smile was genuine now, and the lighthearted feeling that I had stayed with me for the entire journey back to Minas Tirith.

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**_A/N: It may be a little while before the next chapter is up. I know where I want to go with it, but from this point I'd like to start tying it in with another story I have on here. And in order to do so and stay true to my conception of these characters, I need to make some revisions to the other story first. Hopefully that won't take long, and I can get back on this quickly. At least, quicker than I had between the last chapter and this update. :P If you're still reading this story after all this time, you have my most sincere thanks._**


	28. Chapter 28: The King Returns

**Chapter 28-The King Returns**

My relief that the meeting with Éomer had gone well was so overwhelming that I failed to notice how preoccupied Faramir was as we journeyed back to the city. It was not until our horses had been led away to be returned to the stables on the third level, and Faramir had escorted me to the door of the Houses of Healing, that I realized how oddly quiet he had been the entire way, though it seemed he had been listening while I had told him of my time with my brother. "Faramir," I asked him quietly, dropping his arm, "is everything all right?"

I could not read his expression as he took my hand. As he lifted it to his lips, he whispered, "I will explain later." Then he lightly kissed the back of my hand, and added in a louder and more formal voice, "Farewell, my lady." With that, he turned to go, still looking deep in thought.

For the remainder of the afternoon into the early evening, my thoughts were plagued with questions as to what was bothering him. _Had something happened with Aragorn? _I wondered. _Or was it something I had done? And if so, what? _Ioreth, whom I had been asked to accompany on her late-afternoon rounds finally got fed up with my silent fretting and dismissed me, saying that apparently keeping my mind on my duties was a lost cause for the day, what with all the excitement of riding out to the encampment and such. I was just finishing a quick supper when one of the guards from the Citadel arrived to announce that the Lord Faramir wished to discuss a matter with the Lady Éowyn, and could I please accompany him back to the Citadel? Being freed from my work for the night, I quickly agreed.

Despite my preoccupation with all the possibilities about what Faramir wanted to tell me, the journey was quick, and it seemed that little time had passed before I was standing in front of the door to the Steward's office. When Faramir opened the door in response to my knock—I had rapped on the door before the guard could step in to announce my arrival, much to his consternation—I smirked to see that the room seemed to be in an even greater disarray than when I had seen it last. Faramir glanced back to see what I was looking at, then looked back at me and shrugged helplessly while the guard was not looking. "Thank you for answering my summons so quickly, Lady Éowyn," he said, his reserved tone belied only by a slight twinkle in his blue-grey eyes.

"I am at your service, my lord," I replied, dropping into a slight curtsy in imitation of his formality.

Faramir dismissed the guard who had brought me there, and once the guard was out of sight he stepped back inside the room and emerged holding a lantern with an already-lit candle. "Will you walk with me, my lady?" he asked, offering his arm once he had shut and locked the door behind him. As we walked, I studied his face to see if I could find any indication of what he was thinking, but to no avail. It was not until we had nearly reached the door that I realized he was escorting me to the hidden garden again. He opened the door quietly and motioned for me to enter. Faramir shut the door behind him, leaving us in the cooler twilight air, and set the lantern on the nearby bench. "I am greatly looking forward to speaking with your brother," he admitted with uncharacteristic frustration. "It is getting rather tiresome, having to guard my every action around you in public to prevent the spread of any untimely rumors!"

I wondered if this was what he wished to speak to me about, but as he did not seem overly agitated, I could not help teasing him a bit. "It would not have to be so were we in Rohan, my lord," I said with mock formality.

"Oh?" he answered, raising an eyebrow. "Your people would not talk about us?"

"No, they would talk," I replied with a grin. "After all, it is not every day that a ruler of a 'proper' nation like Gondor takes up with an unruly Rohirric maiden." I stepped closer to him, continuing, "But even if I walked up to you in the middle of the street and did this…" My voice trailed off as I wrapped my arms around his neck, pulling his head closer to mine for a lingering kiss. Once I pulled back slightly, I finished, "It would not be looked down upon, as I suspect it would here."

"I am quickly developing a greater appreciation for the more informal ways of your people." Faramir smiled and continued, "I have never seen a man and a woman embrace in such a way in the middle of the street."

I laughed as I pulled away and admitted, "It is not an everyday occurrence. Usually I would see that most often during a time of celebration, when the ale was flowing a bit too freely. But my mother and father were very open about their affection for each other." My smile grew a bit wistful as I continued, "Every time my father had to leave, whether it was merely for the day or for a longer period as his duties as Marshal demanded, before he walked out of the door he would pull Mother into his arms and kiss her soundly. It was always the same—Mother would protest about him kissing her 'in front of the children', though only halfheartedly and we all knew she enjoyed it, Éomer and I would always act thoroughly disgusted at the display, and Father would only laugh and say that he cared not if all of Rohan saw that he loved his wife."

Faramir smiled. "It sounds like a good memory to have," he said, wrapping his arms around me from behind and pulling me close. "I wonder what our children would have to say about you and I?"

"Now, Faramir," I retorted, turning around in his arms and attempting to look stern, though I suspected I failed miserably, "that question is a little premature, is it not? After all, we are not even officially betrothed yet!"

"A formality I hope to remedy shortly," he replied, kissing my forehead.

I smiled, but then quickly grew more serious. "Is that what troubles you, Faramir? That you still need to speak to Éomer?"

"I must admit it concerns me a little," he replied, pulling back, though he did not let go of my hand. He then led me over to the bench, moving the lantern to the ground, and pulled me down next to him. "But no, my love, I am not overly troubled about that right now. I asked to speak with you because there is something I need to tell you, and I did not wish for it to be overheard."

"What is it?" I asked.

Faramir glanced up at the darkening sky, as if he were not certain how to begin. "While I was meeting with Aragorn this afternoon, he asked me to continue on as the Steward."

"What?" I exclaimed. "Faramir, this is wonderful news!" I paused, then added uncertainly, "Is it not?"

"I believe it will be for the best," he replied, smiling a bit then. "I must admit, I was not expecting such an offer at all."

"And why not?" I retorted. "You know Gondor and its people far better than he would, and it is obvious, to me at least, that they hold you in high esteem. Aragorn would be mad to refuse what advice you could give him."

Faramir laughed aloud. "My dear shieldmaiden," he teased gently, "there is no need for you to jump so quickly to my defense when the battle, so to speak, is already over!" He looked down at my hand then, still resting in his, and added, "Though I do appreciate that you would do so if need be."

"Of course I would," I said, rubbing the back of his hand with my thumb. We fell silent for a time then, though I noticed that Faramir's gaze kept drifting over towards the encampment on the Pelennor, where torches had now been lit. From where we were, they looked like mere candle flames against the darkness of the field. I watched him for a time, his face faintly but warmly illumined by the lantern light. "What are you thinking?" I finally asked.

He blinked, looking as one awakening from a dream. He smiled at me tenderly, then said, "I was merely considering how greatly tomorrow will change everything—for both my people and for myself." There was a faraway look in his eyes as he added, "I had scarcely dared to hope that the King might return in my lifetime. Never would I have dreamed that I would be the one to relinquish the rule of Gondor into his keeping. Boromir, perhaps but…" He paused, then added, "Part of me still thinks it should have been him, not me."

I took one of his hands and squeezed it gently. "I have no doubt that, wherever the halls of your fathers may be, your brother will be watching tomorrow's events right along with you." I smiled a bit sadly and continued, "As is my uncle, I am sure. He would have been glad to know that the throne of Gondor has been filled at last. Though I suspect that, in a way, he knew all along that this was what he was fighting to save, as well as our own lands and people." I looked up at him then, saddened by the turn my own thoughts had taken in my attempt to comfort him. "We have both lost much in bringing this day to pass, Faramir."

"Yes," Faramir replied, his expression softening as he held my gaze while he reached up with his other hand to caress my cheek. "But I have gained far more than I have ever hoped for as well."

"As have I," I replied.

I smiled as he wrapped his arms tightly around me again and kissed the top of my head, then stood up and pulled me to my feet. "As much as I would love to continue this, it is getting late. I should escort you back."

"I know," I reluctantly conceded. "I am sure you need to leave early."

He nodded in agreement. "I am taking a carriage down tomorrow, since I will need to bring the King's crown with me," he said. "Amrothos and Lothiríel will be riding with me as well; would you like to join us?"

"Of course." I grinned, then added, "Or would that cause too much of a stir among your people, the _proper _Steward of Gondor being seen so publicly with a wild maiden of Rohan?"

Faramir laughed, then pulled me back into his arms. "Let them talk, then. Once I have a chance to speak with your brother, I care not who knows how I feel about you." I could barely hold back another grin as his lips claimed mine once more.

-------

The day of the coronation dawned fair and clear, with the early morning sun warming my skin through the glass the moment I stopped by the window of my room. To one who had been raised in the cooler climate of Rohan, it felt almost as if summer had arrived early, come to greet the soon-to-be-crowned King of Gondor.

I left the window and moved over towards the wardrobe. The white wool of the one gown I had brought with me when I rode to Gondor would feel heavy on a day such as this, but I knew it would have to do nevertheless. Though I greatly appreciated the generosity of the healers in obtaining the other garments I had been wearing, I had to admit that my own dress was best suited for one of the royal family of Rohan to wear for such an occasion. So it was with no little shock that I opened the door to find a green dress, which looked oddly familiar though I knew I had not seen it before, hanging in the front of the wardrobe.

My audible gasp was punctuated by the door opening as Mithríel walked in. "What is the matter, Éowyn?" she asked.

"Where did this come from?" I asked. "Mithríel, if this was your doing, or any of the other women here, you really should not have!"

A mischievous laugh sounded from the hallway before the healer could answer, and Lothiríel poked her head into the doorway. "Do you like it?" she asked. "I do hope it fits all right!"

"You!" I exclaimed, temporarily at a loss for words before continuing, "Where did you get this? How did it get in here?" I paused, then asked, "And what are you doing here?"

"Why, I am here to help you get ready for the coronation, of course," Lothiríel replied as she entered the room fully, wearing a gown of deep twilight blue and a completely innocent smile on her face. "And I have brought my maidservant with me to assist, since we do not have much time before the men are to arrive. Amrothos had a few of the guards escort us here, but the Steward's carriage will be here before long to take us to the gates."

"You did not answer my question," I demanded.

Lothiríel laughed again as she motioned a tall, slightly plump young woman with raven hair into the room. The maidservant met my eyes for only the briefest moment before bowing her head and ducking into a curtsy. "It would not do at all for a kinswoman of Rohan's king to arrive to a ceremony such as this so simply dressed, so I took the liberty of making other arrangements for you."

The maidservant pulled the gown out of the wardrobe and laid it across the bed, allowing me to fully look at it. As I touched the fine, silky cloth, I realized that if my eyes were not deceiving me, it was the very same I had been admiring in the seamstress's shop on the day the two of us had gone to order my riding clothes. I carefully lifted it up partway, exclaiming, "It's beautiful!" as I admired the sheen of the cloth and the fine golden embroidery that encircled the neckline and the edges of the sleeves. I could also see that the sleeves were lined in a paler green, which also appeared to peek out of the center of the skirt. "It…" I paused as I realized what about the dress seemed so familiar. "It bears a striking resemblance to the style of my white gown," I finished dryly.

Lothiríel smiled innocently. "How else was I to find a model for a gown that would be in a more Rohirric style?" she replied lightly. "However, I must give credit where it is due, and I could not have done this without the aid of this fine woman, since I needed someone who could take the measurements without you noticing." She motioned towards Mithríel, who turned quite crimson.

"Mithríel! You were in on this? And you said nothing?" I blurted out in surprise.

"Forgive me, my lady," she replied, bowing her head slightly. "The Princess was quite adamant." But I could not help but notice that she was having difficulty in suppressing her own grin.

"We also brought you some shoes, though I had to guess at the size since you did not have a second pair to look at. I do hope they fit!"

"I suppose the Gondorian nobility _would _frown upon wearing riding boots with such a fine dress," I replied wryly.

"More like the noble_women_," Lothiríel corrected, rolling her eyes exaggeratedly. Then she grinned mischievously and added, "I highly doubt any of the noblemen will notice what's on your feet. Not that it will make a difference either way if we do not hurry and get you dressed!"

Within a few minutes, the gown was on and laced up, and Mithríel and the maidservant both took their leave. As Lothiríel began twisting my hair up and pinning it into place, I asked, "So how did you manage to bring this here without me noticing?"

"Simple," she answered. "While my dear cousin was keeping you away last night, I came over here and left it in your wardrobe. And with your sleeping gown already laid out, I knew you would have no reason to look in the wardrobe before this morning."

I attempted to twist my head around to look at her, causing her to accidentally poke me with a hairpin. "Ow!" I exclaimed.

"Hold still!" she admonished.

I turned my head back, running my finger over the embroidery on the sleeve in an attempt to distract me from my urge to fidget. "Was Faramir in on this, then?" I asked.

"Oh, no," Lothiríel replied; it was obvious she was enjoying this. "He knows nothing about it. It will be quite amusing to see his reaction to you, will it not?

"Lothiríel, you are simply incorrigible," I replied, rolling my eyes despite my inability to suppress a grin.

"I am not blind, Éowyn," she said, more seriously. "Even if neither of you will admit as much in front of me, I can see that you each care deeply for the other. And it is plain to me as well that Faramir is happier, and more at ease than I have ever seen him, since you have come into his life. My family has long been concerned about him; even more so, since we learned of Boromir's death." There was a somber pause, then she continued in a brighter tone of voice again. "So let us consider this a thank-you for helping him. Besides," she added, "I do consider you a friend, Éowyn, and this was something I could do to help you in return."

Impulsively, I turned around and hugged her. "Thank you, Lothiríel," I said.

She smiled, then pinned a final strand of hair into place. "Come on," she said, grabbing my arm and pulling me towards the door. "We cannot keep the men waiting much longer!"

Sure enough, Faramir and Amrothos were already waiting for us downstairs. Most of the healers had already left, save the few who remained behind to care for those wounded who were not yet well enough to leave the Houses. "'Tis about time!" Amrothos teased good-naturedly, looking at Lothiríel. "I had tried to warn Faramir about how long it takes women to get ready for such events, since he has no sisters of his own, but alas, it seems that even I underestimated!"

Faramir, in the meantime, had been looking at me with such wide-eyed admiration that I could feel my face growing hot. Lothiríel smiled broadly as she moved to take her brother's arm; obviously she had gotten the effect she had desired. Faramir recovered a moment later, offering his arm to me. "You look wonderful," he whispered as we stepped outside.

"Thank you," I replied, smiling up at him as he helped me up into the horse-drawn carriage. Besides the one for the Steward's use, there was a second one waiting with several men inside; they appeared to be wearing the livery of the Citadel guards. "For the crown," Faramir explained to me as Lothiríel, then Amrothos, joined us inside. As for the cask itself, it was sitting on the seat between myself and Faramir.

Walking would have been a far more comfortable way to travel, I decided as the vehicle, like and yet oddly unlike the wagons used by my people, bounced and jostled us over the paved streets. The rattling of the wheels was punctuated by the driver's occasional shout to "Make way for the Steward!", as those late-comers who had not yet made their way down to the city entrance rushed to the sides of the street, many of them calling out greetings to Faramir as we rode by. He always graciously called a greeting back, but otherwise remained mostly silent during the ride, even as Lothiríel and Amrothos kept up a lively conversation with me. Lothiríel in particular could hardly contain her excitement. Besides the coronation and the celebration that was to happen afterwards, she told me that her eldest brother, Elphir, was also to join them that day. He had been set to arrive at the encampment late last evening, and it would be the first time since her father and her other two brothers had ridden to war that her entire family would be together again, save Elphir's wife, who was with child and did not wish to make the journey.

I smiled and was about to comment when a particularly large jolt threw me up against the cask; had that not been in the way, I surely would have ended up in Faramir's lap. He helped me sit up, smiling apologetically, and I whispered to him, "Perhaps horses would have been easier." He smiled, but did not answer, turning the White Rod of his office over idly in his lap.

"Are you all right, cousin?" Lothiríel asked.

Faramir nodded, a serious expression on his face again. "I am merely making certain that I have not left anything out." He seemed calm enough, but I wondered if he was nervous at all about his role in the day's events.

We all fell silent then, until the carriage pulled up at the entrance to the city. I looked over at Faramir. "Are you ready?" I whispered to him.

He nodded, looking more certain of himself again as he picked up the Rod and left the carriage first. The rest of us soon followed. The Citadel guardsmen who had been appointed to bear the dark wooden cask holding the crown were already waiting, as were Húrin and Elfhelm. I was to stand with my people for the ceremony, so Faramir escorted me to Elfhelm's side, then he and Húrin went together to make their way to their place before the city walls; a barrier had been set up where the gates had once stood, and I could see many people already gathered before it, and even more pressed in around them on all sides. After removing the crown from the carriage, the guards bearing the cask followed Faramir and Húrin, then Elfhelm offered me his arm and we joined the small procession.

The peoples' anticipation was almost tangible in the air around me. Some of the more adventurous children had scrambled atop the remaining parts of the wall and any rubble stable enough to hold their weight in search of a better view; Bergil was among these, and he waved at me cheerfully as he caught my eye. The others on the ground pressed together as closely as they could, often held back only by the soldiers of both Gondor and Rohan who were now returning from the East. The crowd had begun murmuring even more excitedly at the appearance of their beloved Steward, but they still stepped back in order to clear a path for him. We made our way over to the other Rohirrim that stood before the barrier, those that had been left in the city to recover from their wounds or had returned early from Cormallen. Lothiríel, escorted by Amrothos, was close behind me, and she smiled at me as she and her brother moved to stand with a group of people that I assumed were from Dol Amroth; I could see Erchiron standing with them.

I smiled back, but could do no more than that. Once Faramir had stepped into place and turned to face the Pelennor, the crowd fell silent. Even the children were still as the returning soldiers stepped back to clear another path and Aragorn stepped forward, dressed in glittering mail and the black and silver of Gondor with a white mantle draped around his shoulders and a thin silver band around his forehead that was set with a gem of silvery hue. Gandalf walked behind him, carrying his staff and clad all in white that gleamed like the fresh-fallen snow on the mountain peaks near Edoras. With him were the four _holbytla_—Frodo and Sam to his right, and Merry and Pippin to his left. All four of them had been given fine clothing to wear, and I smiled to see that in addition, Merry wore the leather armor that I had supplied him with back in Dunharrow. Pippin, likewise, wore a much smaller version of the Citadel guards' uniform, while Frodo wore a mail shirt wrought of some metal that shone unlike any armor I had ever seen and Sam had a coat of gilded mail; all four of them also wore the same grey-green Elven cloaks that Merry had always kept with him. A hushed murmur ran through the assembly at the sight of them, and I smiled to myself, knowing that it was the first time that most of them had ever seen a hobbit. Legolas and Gimli followed, as odd a pair as any would wish to see, and both also dressed finely; it looked as if Gimli had even brushed and neatly rebraided his thick reddish beard for the occasion.

Imrahil walked behind them, dressed in dark blue and silver and with a silver circlet on his brow. Éomer was beside him. His steel and leather armor had been cleaned and polished, and somehow he had managed to procure a fine cloak and tunic, both of a rich green trimmed with gold. I fought hard to suppress a smirk as I wondered who had provided him with that, for I knew that my brother, a soldier to the core, would never have even thought to bring such finery with him into battle. He also wore a thin gold circlet, marking him as the heir to the throne; he would not wear a crown until his own coronation in Edoras. Éomer and Imrahil were followed by a small host of men, along with two Elves that I recognized as the twins that had accompanied Aragorn to Dunharrow. All, including Elladan and Elrohir, were tall and dark-haired, their silver mail shining beneath grey cloaks. The entire party paused then, as a single horn blew from atop the walls, and all fell silent once more. I watched as Faramir stepped forward, with Húrin beside him; he was followed by the four Citadel guards who bore the dark cask that held the crown.

It is difficult for me to put words to how I felt, watching the two men whom my affections had warred between as they stood face-to-face, neither yet speaking. To me, it seemed as if they were far more alike than I had previously realized. I could hardly recognize Aragorn as the somewhat disheveled Ranger that had ridden into Edoras; since I'd last seen him upon my awakening in the Houses of Healing, nearly all traces of that man had been washed away, leaving in his place a living image of the legendary Sea-Kings whose stone likenesses lined the Great Hall of the Citadel. There was an air about him as well that also made him seem almost remote to me now, something that reminded me of the few Elves I'd had contact with—present among us, but with an almost intangible otherworldiness that a mere mortal like myself could never fully comprehend. Faramir faced him steadily, born of slightly lesser blood but no less noble, with a strength in his gaze that showed he could match the Northern Dúnedain. He could be Aragorn's greatest ally in securing his throne—or his greatest rival, if he had so chosen; my time in Minas Tirith had shown me beyond any doubt that while the people's loyalty might lie with their new King, their hearts truly belonged to Denethor's son, who had lived and fought and bled alongside them.

My wandering thoughts were drawn back to the present moment as Faramir knelt, bowing his head briefly before saying in a loud, clear voice, "The last Steward of Gondor begs leave to surrender his office." As he spoke, he raised the White Rod with both hands.

Aragorn took the Rod from him, holding it for a long moment. Then he handed it back to Faramir. "That office is not ended," he replied. "It shall be yours and your heirs' as long as my line shall last. Do now your office!"

A murmur of surprise, then approval, swept through the crowd. Aragorn had indeed chosen well in keeping him as the Steward, I reflected, as Faramir rose to his feet. His voice carried clearly across the field as he called out, "Men of Gondor, hear now the Steward of the Realm! Behold!" He gestured towards Aragorn as he announced, "One has come to claim the kingship again at last! Here is Aragorn, son of Arathorn, chieftain of the Dúnedain of Arnor, Captain of the Host of the West, bearer of the Star of the North, wielder of the Sword reforged, victorious in battle, whose hands bring healing…" For just the briefest moment, his eyes met mine, and I smiled reassuringly at him as he continued, "…the Elfstone, Elessar of the line of Valandil, Isildur's son, Elendil's son of Númenor."

From a little further down the line, I heard one of the Rohirrim whisper to one of his companions, "I wonder if all the Southern kings come with such a long list of titles?" It was all I could do to keep from bursting out laughing as Faramir finished, "Shall he be king and enter into the city and dwell here?"

The assenting shouts from the people were nearly deafening. Once they had died down somewhat, Faramir spoke again. "Men of Gondor, the loremasters tell that it was the custom of old that the king should receive the crown from his father ere he died; or if that might not be, that he should go alone and take it from the hands of his father in the tomb where he was laid." _A strange custom, _I thought; none of my people would have dared to disturb the mound of a fallen king. "But since things must now be done otherwise," Faramir continued, interrupting my thoughts, "using the authority of the Steward, I have today brought hither from Rath Dínen the crown of Eärnur the last king, whose days passed in the time of our longfathers of old."

The four guards stepped forward and Faramir opened the cask; as he removed the crown he lifted it high so that all the people could see it. I stood close enough to see the pearl-inlaid silver wings on the side, reminding me of the gulls I had seen flying over the gardens of the Houses of Healing. Seven gemstones shone like stars around the edges of it, with a larger one at the top that seemed to hold the light of the sun itself. After Faramir handed the crown over to Aragorn, he held it up and spoke several lines that I could not understand, though it sounded vaguely like Elvish to me. I noted several of the Riders looking at each other in slight confusion as well. To my surprise, Aragorn then handed the crown back to Faramir. For a moment I thought he intended for Faramir to set it on his head, but then he said, "By the labor and valor of many I have come into my inheritance. In token of this I would have the Ring-bearer bring the crown to me, and let Mithrandir set it upon my head, if he will; for he has been the mover of all that has been accomplished, and this is his victory."

Frodo stepped forward then—a bit shyly, I thought—and took the crown from Faramir's hands. Faramir smiled at him encouragingly, and to me it looked as if some sort of silent understanding passed between them. I knew that Faramir had held little hope that their paths would cross again, and I was glad to see it. Frodo passed the crown off to Gandalf then; Aragorn knelt before the wizard and Gandalf set the crown upon his head, saying, "Now come the days of the King, and may they be blessed while the thrones of the Valar endure!"

An awed silence remained over the assembly as Aragorn rose to his feet; I knew that I could never fully comprehend what this moment meant to the people of Gondor, since Rohan had never been without a king since the days of Eorl. But I did find little hints, watching the faces of those I had gotten to know during my time in the city. Ioreth, who was standing with a small group of older women, was completely silent for once. I could see Mithríel standing nearby as well, not far from where Bergil and his friends were perched on the wall. Her eyes, however, were not on Aragorn; she kept looking towards a group of Gondorian soldiers, and I could guess that her husband was among these. Several of the younger noble-looking women watched Aragorn with a wide-eyed admiration that made me feel almost embarrassed for them—_was that how I had looked at him? _I wondered. It seemed so long ago.

It was Faramir who broke the silence. "Behold the King!" he shouted, his statement punctuated by the clear ring of trumpets from the city walls. The people broke into cheers as Aragorn walked towards the barrier and Húrin pushed it aside. The newly-crowned King then entered his city, followed closely by Faramir, the Dúnedain, Gandalf, the four hobbits, and Legolas and Gimli. I could hear music already coming from within the walls.

As the crowd began to disperse and enter the city, I felt a slight nudge at my side and turned to see Éomer there with a conspiratorial grin on his face; somehow he had managed to slip away from the procession without my noticing. "So, little sister," he said in quietly-spoken Rohirric, "shall we see what kind of celebration these grave men of the South can muster up?"

"My dear brother," I replied with a smirk, "we both know you are far more concerned with the quality of the food and ale—as are most of your men, I would wager."

Éomer laughed heartily in response; I had not realized till that moment how much I had missed that laugh, it had been so long since I had heard it. It had been long since either of us had found any joy to be had in the house of our enthralled uncle, I mused. "Too true," Éomer said, pulling me from my reverie as he took my arm. "And I must admit that I _am _looking forward to a good meal. I think I could eat an entire wild boar by myself!"

"Then we had best hurry," I answered. "I saw Merry and Pippin enter the city a few moments ago, and if we do not make haste, there will be no food left at all!" Éomer laughed again we walked past the walls and into Minas Tirith.

* * *

**_A/N: Ok, I'm back (finally!) The good news is, my oddball music career has really been picking up lately. The bad news is, that leaves me with less time to write. But the other good news is that I'm finally getting inspired to keep working on this story again. So we'll see what happens with that._**

**_Also, for those of you who have been asking me about how Eomer's going to react to Faramir, I really did intend to get to it in this chapter. But after working in the text from the coronation, it was getting way too long to give that the time it deserves. I will get to it in the next chapter, I promise!_**

**_One final note--while most of the dialogue between Aragorn and Faramir is straight from the book, I did alter Aragorn's phrasing slightly when he announced that Faramir would remain the Steward, since the "thee" and "thy" didn't really seem to fit with the rest of the dialogue. My apologies to the good Professor. (Also, if you're curious about how Faramir already knew he still had his job in this chapter, I dealt with that issue in another story, "The Steward and the King." And with that, I'll end my shameless plugging for the moment.)_**


	29. Chapter 29: Revelations

**Chapter 29- Revelations**

Besides Éomer and myself, several of the higher-ranking officers of Rohan's military had been invited to the King's feast. They quickly followed us into Minas Tirith, and the crowds were willing enough to make way for us—especially once Elfhelm and Erkenbrand took it into their heads to shout orders to make way for the King of Rohan. Éomer lowered his voice and protested, "I was only named Théoden's heir; I am not yet made king."

The two Marshals merely laughed as Elfhelm stated, "That may be true, but the men of Gondor do not need to know that."

"Besides," Erkenbrand added, "it is so much quicker than saying 'Make way for the uncrowned heir to the throne of Rohan!'" I laughed as Éomer glared at them both balefully.

Despite their best efforts, it still took quite some time for us to make our way to the uppermost level of the city. By the time that we reached the Citadel, it seemed that the festivities had already begun, at least if the celebratory sounds that greeted our ears when we entered the main hall were any indication. Several large tables had been set up throughout the room, and many people were milling about near those, though none were yet seated. Judging from their outfits, it seemed that most of them were either nobles of Gondor or other military officers. The longest table was placed near the head of the room, and this was where I saw Aragorn and Faramir standing, as well as the four Halflings, Gandalf, and their other companions that I had become acquainted with in the past several weeks.

Many dark-clad servants were moving throughout the room as well, and one posted near the door hurried off to announce our arrival to Aragorn. Upon looking over and seeing us waiting near the door, he turned and spoke to Faramir, and the two of them walked towards us. "My Lord Éomer," Aragorn said as they drew within earshot, a friendly twinkle in his eye belying the serious tone of his voice, "it was good of you to come." He bowed his head slightly in greeting, and Éomer did the same. His eyes then flicked over to me and his expression grew more formal. "Lady Éowyn," he added more quietly, "I am glad to see that you are restored to health."

"Thank you, my lord," I replied with equal civility. I hoped that my face did not show my discomfort at his presence, especially as he politely took my hand and pressed a light kiss to the back of it. Nor did I dare to look up at Faramir, who was standing just behind the King, not wishing to see it if he looked hurt or jealous at the exchange.

Aragorn released my hand quickly, then raised his head to address the other Rohirrim in a louder voice. "My friends from the North," he said, "you are most welcome here." They bowed and murmured their thanks as several more servants appeared to show them to their seats. Aragorn looked at Éomer and added, "Please allow me to escort you to our table."

"With pleasure," Éomer replied, then looked over at me, obviously unsure whether to lead me there himself or to turn me over to Aragorn.

In response to his unspoken question, Aragorn glanced over at Faramir and said, "Lord Faramir, would you do me the favor of escorting Lady Eowyn to her seat?"

As I glanced over at Aragorn, wondering if he had somehow learned of the growing relationship between me and his Steward, Faramir looked at Éomer and calmly stated, "With her brother's permission, I would be honored to, my Lord." Éomer looked rather uncertain at this prospect, his eyes narrowing slightly as if he were sizing up Faramir and his intentions with me, but then curtly nodded and released my arm before stepping to Aragorn's side. The two of them began talking more quietly, but obviously less formally as they headed for the main table.

As Faramir took my arm and began to lead me towards the table as well, he said, "Once again the arrival of your people has proven timely, my lady. I have recently been informed by Master Brandybuck and Master Took that they are likely to wither away to nothing if the feast does not begin soon."

The corner of his mouth quirked into a smile as he looked at me, and I had to cover my mouth with my other hand to prevent myself from bursting into laughter. "Then I am glad we arrived when we did, my lord," I replied, grateful for the lift to my spirits that his lighthearted comment had given me. "I would not wish to have the starvation of a Halfling on my conscience." I paused, then cautiously added, "I am surprised that the King would come to greet us himself. It does not seem to fit with your people's formal manners."

"It _is _rather unconventional," Faramir admitted. "But I believe his intention was to show the nobles that he regards the Rohirrim as fully equal allies to the men of Gondor." His eyes met mine then and he added quietly, "A sentiment that I am in full agreement with." I smiled at him, but there was no time for any further words between us as we reached the table. Faramir led me to my seat, then released my arm and moved to take his place to the left of Aragorn—it seemed that he had deferred the seat to the right to Gandalf. Aragorn moved to his seat, waiting until all who were in attendance had arrived at their seats, then sat down. The rest of the company then followed suit.

The seating had been arranged so that the four hobbits had been seated in places of honor next to Gandalf and Faramir, with two on each side. Éomer had been seated next to Merry, and I had been placed across from him and next to Pippin. Éomer leaned over slightly as the servants began to carry several large, heavily-laden trays out and whispered that Aragorn had told him that he had no wish to slight the King of Rohan, and had wanted to know if the seating arrangement would suit. "Which is fine with me," Éomer added, then raised his voice as he looked pointedly at the hobbits and continued, "provided some of the food actually reaches my plate."

Merry, who had been talking animatedly with Pippin, looked up and innocently asked, "Whatever do you mean, my lord?"

Éomer calmly sat back and smirked. "I mean, Meriadoc," he stated, "As a knight of Rohan it is your duty to ensure that your King leaves the table sufficiently fed." He folded his arms across his chest in an intimidating manner, though the grin on his face completely spoiled the effect.

"You should be ashamed, brother, using your throne—when I clearly remember you stating within the past hour that it is not truly yours yet —against a defenseless hobbit to rob him of his supper!" I interjected with an innocent smile.

"Defenseless? Hardly," Éomer sputtered, and Merry and Pippin both burst out laughing. Éomer was saved from having to make a verbal counter-attack, however, as Aragorn began passing the food around.

Between the two hobbits at my left, and the constant banter between Legolas and Gimli, who were at my and Éomer's other sides, I was far from lacking in entertainment for the duration of the meal. Though Merry had spoken quite often of his time spent with the other remaining members of the Fellowship, and I had spoken with each of them myself to varying degrees, it was the first time I had seen them all together and I was fascinated by watching the interactions and the obvious strong bonds among such a diverse group. Oddly enough, it seemed as though they had accepted Éomer, Faramir and I as part of this strange family, despite how much more recently we had come into their acquaintances. I still felt rather awkward speaking to Aragorn, though, and spent most of the time either talking to my brother or Merry and Pippin. With Faramir being seated several places down, I had little opportunity to speak with him at all—a smile on the occasions his eyes would briefly meet mine was more or less all the contact I had with him for the entirety of the meal.

Once the feasting had begun to die down, the musicians who were present began to play more loudly, and the servants began clearing off some of the tables before moving them aside to make more room on the floor. Aragorn rose from his seat, and as he moved to a nearby table, those of us seated at his table also started to break off into other conversations. I watched with Merry and Pippin as several couples among the Gondorian nobility stood up and began moving gracefully across the floor in time with the music. The dance looked far more formal and stately than anything we had in Rohan. It seemed that the hobbits were of a like mind, as Merry said, "I wonder that they can enjoy themselves at all with such complicated-looking steps. It seems like a lot to remember, doesn't it, Pip?"

"I don't think they're enjoying themselves much at all, Merry," Pippin agreed. "Hardly any of them are smiling."

Merry turned to me then. "What about you, Lady Éowyn? Do you think the dance looks like fun?"

"I am certain that I would be too busy trying to figure out the steps—and apologizing to the unfortunate man whose toes I would be stepping on in the process—to find much pleasure in it," I answered dryly.

Merry grinned mischievously; apparently my answer had been precisely what he had hoped for. "What do you think, Pippin? Should we show her how people dance at a party in the Shire?"

Next to Pippin, Samwise began to look worried. "You won't climb on the tables again, will you? I daresay folks would frown upon that in these parts."

Éomer rolled his eyes in a very unkingly fashion. "And I daresay I would frown upon Halfling feet trampling on my plate."

"You worry too much, Sam," Merry said innocently.

"Yes, I need at least another ale before I would actually do it," Pippin added.

Frodo smiled faintly. "I have seen you act on far less ale than you've already had, Pippin."

"Oh, I'll behave myself, Frodo." Pippin sighed before straightening up and adding proudly, "After all, I'm in the service of the King here, and I suppose getting thrown out of the party wouldn't make him look very good, would it?" Apparently Gimli had been listening in from the other side of Éomer, since he released a snort at that.

Merry ignored Pippin's question and looked over at the musicians, who were beginning a faster, but somehow still formal-sounding, song. "Come on, Pippin," he said, grinning at his cousin before turning to Éomer. "And with your permission, my lord, I would like to claim Lady Éowyn for this dance as well."

"Oh?" Éomer raised an eyebrow and glanced over at me.

I laughed as I pushed my chair back. "Someone has to keep these two out of trouble, brother," I answered as Pippin grabbed my hand and pulled me around to the other side of the table, where Merry grabbed my other hand.

The two hobbits joined their other hands, and began a lively circle dance. The steps were easy to pick up on, and I could not help laughing as I tried to stay in step with the much-shorter Halflings. I stopped briefly as I faced the tables during one round when I saw that Faramir and Éomer were talking to each other. It was easy to guess that they were speaking about me, as I saw Éomer's eyes dart towards me with a look on his face somewhere between confusion and suspicion, and it was only when Pippin ran into my legs that I looked away. Merry broke the circle with Pippin, moving in a circle around me while he still held my hand. He glanced over at the two men, then up at me; it seemed that he had figured out what was going on, since he smiled at me reassuringly.

The moment the song ended, Éomer was at my side. "We need to talk, Éowyn," he said quietly but firmly. I glanced over at Faramir briefly as I let go of Merry and Pippin's hands, but I could not read the expression on his face. "Is there anywhere quieter around here?" Éomer continued.

"Anywhere outside of the main hall would be quieter than here," I replied, beginning to be worried. Éomer took my arm without another word and steered me away from the crowd and outside the main doors; as we walked away, I could hear Pippin asking Merry what was going on. Once the doors had shut behind us, Éomer let go of my arm, but instead of speaking, he began pacing a bit without looking at me, obviously agitated. When I could bear his prowling no longer, I blurted out, "Éomer, what is the matter?"

"I have just had a rather…interesting conversation with your friend, the Steward," he said, still not looking at me.

"Oh?" I asked uncertainly, wondering if he was angry.

Éomer replied, "It seems he has developed some sort of feelings for you, and asked for my permission to court you."

"And what did you say?" I asked him.

A short, humorless laugh escaped his mouth. "I told him I would need to speak with you first, because I would not wish to grant him the right to seek your hand against your wishes. But it seems that he is rather confident that you would be willing." His eyes finally met mine then, and he looked more confused than anything else. "A strange assertion, since I had been led to believe you had feelings for Aragorn."

"I know." I paused, trying to collect my thoughts. "It is true that, when we left Rohan, I believed myself to be in love with Lord Aragorn, and I had truly hoped that he would return that. But I know now that I was merely deceiving myself, and that any regard he may have shown towards me was nothing more than friendship, or pity; I know not which one it was."

"So you do not care for Aragorn, then?" Éomer asked.

I shook my head. "I did not say that either. I have a great deal of respect for him, and I do hope that someday I might be able to think of him as a friend, but I know now that he could never love me. Nor do I now believe I could love him."

Éomer began pacing again. "And where does Lord Faramir fit into all this?" he asked.

I sighed. "I must confess that I was not entirely truthful with you the other day, Éomer," I admitted. "We did become friends at the Houses of Healing, and for some time that was all I saw him as. But as I came to know him better, I began to care for him more, and…and I love him, Éomer," I blurted out.

Éomer abruptly turned away from me, and though he did not face me I could see his jaw tightening as he stared intently into nothing. "Please say something," I finally pleaded.

When he looked back at me, his expression was a strange mixture of hurt, anger and bewilderment. "How can you be so certain this time?" he asked. "It is unlike you to be so fickle, Éowyn. How has this man managed to bewitch you so quickly?" His eyes narrowed suspiciously. "He—I mean, surely you and he did not…"

"Of course not!" I interrupted indignantly. "Faramir has never treated me with anything but respect, and if you knew him at all, you would know he is not the type to use a woman for his pleasure and then cast her aside. Nor has he bewitched me in any way." Éomer was obviously unconvinced, so I stepped closer and laid a hand on his arm. "He is not like Gríma, Éomer," I said softly.

"I would hope not!" Éomer folded his arms across his chest, then sighed heavily. "Are you truly so desperate to leave Rohan then, that you cannot seek happiness among our own people?"

"It is not like that at all," I protested. "Is that what this is about, that he is Gondorian?" Éomer did not answer, and it was my turn to sigh. "My feelings for Faramir have nothing to do with where he is from; I am certain that I would not care for him any more or less if he _was _from Rohan," I stated. "I will not ask you to be happy for me, brother, but can you at least try to understand?"

"I need time, Éowyn," he replied.

I could see the turmoil in his eyes, and my heart sank. "What will you tell Faramir, then?" I asked.

"Just what I told you," he said, abruptly turning and opening the door to go back into the main hall. He motioned for me to enter first, then followed me inside. I allowed him to pass me as he walked over towards Faramir, who was speaking to Lothiríel. When Faramir saw him, he quickly excused himself and stepped away a few paces. For a silent moment, the two men eyed each other. Then Éomer said curtly, "You will have your answer, Lord Faramir, but not yet. I cannot and will not give my word on this lightly."

"Nor would I expect you to, Lord Éomer," Faramir replied.

Éomer looked as if he wanted to say something else, but then thought better of it. His expression darkened momentarily, then turned to sadness as he glanced over at me. Then he turned and walked off without another word.

I watched him go, then turned as I felt Faramir step closer to me. "Take heart, my love," he said softly. "He did not say no."

"I know," I replied, turning more fully towards him as I began to walk to the side of the room, away from the crowds. "But I did not expect him to take it so hard."

Faramir looked over his shoulder thoughtfully towards Éomer, who was now talking with some of his men. "I suppose this is all rather sudden for him," he mused as we reached the wall and turned back to face the room. "I must admit that, were our places reversed, I would most likely be suspicious as well if I left believing my sister to be enamored of one man, only to return to find her certain she loves another."

"He more or less said just the same," I admitted.

Faramir smiled at me reassuringly. "I am certain that all will be well, once he has time to get used to the idea," he said, "though I can hardly blame him for being reluctant to give you over to the care of another man."

A smile twitched at the corner of my mouth in spite of myself. "I hope you are right, Faramir," I replied.

His eyes looked earnestly into mine as he took my hand and said firmly, "I have no wish to come between you and your brother. You know Éomer better than I, and I know not what it will take for him to grant me your hand, but if it lies within my power, I will do it. We will be together, Éowyn, I promise you that."

"I believe you," I answered. "I truly do, Faramir. But I _had_ hoped he would be happy for me." I looked over towards Éomer again and said, "I suppose I just need to give him time, like he asked."

Faramir nodded. "And I will wait as long as I need to." I smiled at him appreciatively, squeezing his hand lightly as we moved back towards the crowd again.

* * *

**_A/N: Well, there you have it... Eomer finally knows. I like being consistent within my own take on canon when I can, so my reasoning for this reaction is to tie it in with "The Best-Laid Plans." If you've read that, that means you already know how it'll turn out in the end, but then, you all know the final outcome is Eowyn and Faramir getting married anyway. So hopefully seeing it unfold will still be enjoyable. :D_**


	30. Chapter 30: Truth and Consequences

**Chapter 30- Truth and Consequences**

The celebration continued long into the night. Though Éomer's expression was so closely guarded when I caught him watching me and Faramir that I could not tell what he was thinking, he made no attempt to part us. I had appreciated it at the time, but my gratitude was even greater as the next few days wore on. Despite my moving out of the Houses of Healing and taking up residence at the Citadel, on the day after the coronation the King began a series of councils and judgments, and so I saw little of Faramir for several days. What little time we did have together was mainly limited to rushed conversations in the halls, due to the numerous unofficial meetings with the King and other officials of Gondor that he needed to take part in on top of the long days in court.

As my presence was neither needed nor encouraged at the councils, I divided my time between continuing my studies at the Houses of Healing in the mornings and spending the afternoons with Lothiríel and the Halflings. Lothiríel told me that in her land, tradition held that women were not present at the King's council, save the Queen when called for or a woman involved in the case being judged. Nor were the noblewomen encouraged to take part in political matters. When expressing my surprise at her knowledge of such things, she confided to me that her father had allowed her a more active role in the court of Dol Amroth than was a woman's wont, though some of the lesser nobles of Belfalas had grumbled against it. It seemed that Imrahil or his sons were still discussing with her what transpired in court each day, and she kept me up-to-date on the council's happenings.

As for the hobbits, though they would have been welcomed by the King had they wished to attend, they simply grew too restless when confined to the long meetings--especially Merry and Pippin. Gandalf was acting as one of Aragorn's advisors for the time being, and Legolas and Gimli were taking part in the councils both to represent their races and to bring report of the situation in Gondor back to their own lands. Since I knew the hobbits a little better than most of the residents of Gondor who were still available, and the health of Frodo and Sam was still being monitored by the healers, I was the most logical choice to keep an eye on them. The time with them proved to be far more entertaining than I had expected; Merry and Pippin spent hours trying to outdo each other on which one could make me laugh more with exaggerated tales of their escapades in the Shire. In addition, they managed to coax several tales of my homeland out of me, both the legends of my people and simpler stories of the scrapes that Éomer and I would get into. Sam would sometimes join in, though his primary concern was with the health of his master. As for Frodo, he would listen intently, but he seemed rather withdrawn and rarely spoke. I was deeply concerned for him, of course, but not having known him before the Ring, I did not know what to say or do to help him. After all, though sorrow had recently fallen heavily upon both those I had loved before and those I had just come to know, he had borne the greatest burden of us all, and the one that was hardest to free himself from. But it seemed to do him good to see the younger hobbits enjoying themselves, so I encouraged their lighthearted banter as much as possible.

Late on the second afternoon of the councils, Éomer sought me out on the parapet of the Citadel, where I was sitting with Lothiríel, to ask me if I wished to go for a ride. I quickly accepted, and it was not long before the two of us were trotting briskly away from the walls of Minas Tirith. Éomer rode in a sullen silence; an ill-timed jest about the horsemanship of Gondorian women, which Lothiríel had overheard, had resulted in a brief argument between the two of them. Éomer had clearly been unprepared to defend himself against her verbal attacks, and had been completely silent since. "Come, brother, are you going to mope the entire time?" I finally asked, hoping to tease him out of his foul mood.

"That woman is completely insufferable," Éomer practically growled. "It was nothing personal against her; she was not even supposed to hear it!"

"And it was rather insensitive of you to insult her riding abilities based simply on where she is from," I countered. "I would have argued the point with you as well, had I been in her place. Besides, your voice _can_ be a little…" I paused, trying to think of a tactful way to say it, then smiled a bit. It seemed that Faramir's more diplomatic approach to such things was already rubbing off on me.

"Loud?" Éomer finished.

"It carries well," I agreed. "And if you are so worried about it, then you should simply apologize to her."

"I _did _apologize!" he protested. I simply looked at him, and he scowled. "Fine. I tried to apologize, and I would have if she had let me have a word in edgewise. And that was still no reason to call me arrogant."

"Éomer, what you said _was _arrogant," I pointed out. "True for most of the women of Gondor, perhaps, but arrogant nonetheless."

"Whose side are you on?" he complained. "And whatever happened to the lauded propriety these Gondorian noblewomen are supposed to possess?"

I could not help smirking at him. "Perhaps you are simply upset that she did not fawn all over you like so many of the other 'proper' Gondorian noblewomen were at the banquet the other night. And do not think that I did not notice."

Éomer rolled his eyes. "And I am sure that they would not have paid the least bit of attention if not for the rather inconvenient prospect of my becoming a king."

"Oh, I am not so certain," I teased. "Marshal of the Riddermark is a rather impressive title as well." Éomer shot me a look that clearly said I was not helping. "All right! As I said, just apologize to the lady. It would not do to get on ill terms with her, since she is the daughter of one of your friends. And next time, you should be more wary of insulting young women while they are still in earshot." Éomer sighed, then nodded his concession. "Now," I said, changing the subject, "you asked me to come out here for a reason. Did you wish to speak with me about something?"

"Indeed, I did," Éomer said. "There were some things that happened in the council today that I wished to tell you of." He proceeded to speak of the ambassadors that had come before Aragorn that day, particularly the Southrons. A peace treaty had been made with Harad, he told me, and his unease at the thought was clear on his face. I was inclined to agree; after all, our people had suffered the heaviest losses on the Pelennor at the hands of the Haradrim and their mûmakil, particularly through the dart that felled Snowmane. Éomer had discovered after the battle that it was a Southron arrow, and not from the Nazgûl as they had originally thought. So, though he had upheld the treaty for the Rohirrim in order to lend his support to Gondor, he suspected that it was an uneasy truce on both sides, and darkly commented that he did not believe this would be the last that Rohan heard of the Haradrim.

I sat for a time, taking this all in. "From what you have told me, it seems their people have been greatly weakened by their losses on the Pelennor—far more than us. Perhaps they need time to rebuild, and they will not have the resources to trouble us again for a long while."

Éomer shook his head. "Perhaps. But with the reports that I have been receiving over the past several days, there is much that we will need to rebuild back home as well. Many people are without homes, especially in the Westfold, and with all the land that the orcs burned, we may not have enough crops left to make it through the winter."

He looked deeply troubled at this thought, and though I suspected the answer, I asked, "Éomer, why do you tell me all these things?"

"Because," he said, looking up at me, "I am not a diplomat, nor am I skilled at making decisions in matters such as where to concentrate our efforts at rebuilding first." I raised an eyebrow, and Éomer continued, "I need your help, Éowyn. You spent far more time in the court and in Théoden's company than I, and you would have a much better idea of what needs to be done." I smirked a bit, remembering my earlier conversation with Lothiríel on a woman's role in such things. Éomer, misreading my expression, stifled a groan and asked, "Must I beg you to return to Rohan with me?"

"Éomer," I said kindly, "of course I will go back to Rohan with you. I have no intention of doing otherwise." As much as I had enjoyed my time with Faramir in Minas Tirith, I was beginning to long for the simpler lifestyle and open spaces of home again, and was torn between that and the desire to stay with him. But I knew I needed to return, at least one more time.

A look of obvious relief crossed his face. "That is good to hear," he admitted. "I had thought that with your…attachment…to the Steward, perhaps you would not wish to come back home."

He looked distinctly uncomfortable at the thought, but I still could not tell if that meant he had made up his mind concerning Faramir's suit. I decided not to push the issue at the moment and said, "I cannot stay away forever. I failed our people, and I must do my best to make it up to them."

Éomer nodded in understanding and replied, "And I will do my best to help you in that." He paused, then asked, "Why were you smiling then?"

"Oh," I said lightly, "I was just thinking that your fellow lords from Gondor would think it strange that you are seeking my opinion on these matters. I have been told that is quite unheard-of, asking a woman for help or advice in their political dealings."

"Does that go for Faramir too?" Éomer asked bluntly. My gaze jerked up to his, and he continued, "I have to ask, Éowyn. I do not think you could be happy with a man who had no concern for what you think."

"He has already sought my opinion on certain matters," I replied, quickly telling him of the incident with our men who were helping to clear the lower levels.

"That is encouraging," he tentatively admitted.

I looked him straight in the eyes and asked, "Are you still unhappy with me about this?"

"I told you, I need time to get used to it," Éomer replied defensively. "If I am going to give him permission to court you—and no, I have not yet made up my mind on that—I must be certain that he both deserves you and will make you happy."

"I truly believe he does, Éomer. What will it take to convince you?" I asked.

"I do not know." Éomer's voice clearly indicated that he did not wish to discuss it further at the moment either.

I did not want to press him too hard, so instead I asked, "What other news have you heard from Rohan?" My brother seemed almost relieved that I did not force the issue as he began telling me of the damage the orcs had caused as they moved behind our armies. When he had finished, I ventured, "Perhaps Gondor could lend us some aid, or at least would have some food to spare to help us through the winter."

"Perhaps," Éomer replied, though I could tell it bruised his pride to consider asking Aragorn for help.

"It would not be begging, Éomer," I said. "Gondor called for our aid in battle, and though there is no need to draw swords in this, trying to help our people recover from it is just as much a part of the war."

Éomer's smile was more genuine now. "That does not sound so bad," he stated. "I would like to see the state of things for myself first, but I will certainly consider that option."

"That sounds like a fair approach," I agreed, then shot him a teasing grin. "See? So far, you are not doing so badly at this." Éomer rolled his eyes in a decidedly un-kingly manner, and I laughed as we turned our horses back towards the city.

-------

Before the noon meal on the fourth day, word reached the Houses of Healing that Beregond was to receive the King's judgment on the next day, for his actions at Rath Dínen. It was common knowledge that to shed blood in the Hallows bore the sentence of death, and now that the time had come to face the consequences of her husband's actions, Mithríel was reduced to such a nervous state that Daeron released her from duties for the rest of the day and even took the time to personally escort her and Bergil to the guard house where Beregond was being detained to await his trial.

It grieved me to see her in such a state; in the time I had spent in the Houses, both as a patient and as an apprentice, I had come to think of the healer as a friend. So I resolved to speak to Faramir and see if he knew of anything that could be done; after all, the matter closely concerned him. With that in mind, I quietly approached him as we were leaving supper that night and asked if I could speak to him for a few moments. He quickly agreed, and pulled me aside into a small alcove near the entrance to the smaller dining area where the King's guests had been having supper that week. "I must apologize, Éowyn," he said as he turned to face me. "I know I have been neglecting you this week. You must believe that it is not from a lack of desire to see you."

"That is good to hear," I replied, smiling up at him, "and I have missed your company. But I know you have much to do right now; you shall simply have to make it up to me later." Faramir's countenance brightened considerably at that prospect. I continued, "But that is not what I wished to speak to you about."

"Oh?" he asked.

I glanced back out into the hallway, then lowered my voice. "I was wondering if you knew anything about Beregond's judgment. Mithríel is greatly troubled over the outcome, and I wished to reassure her if I can."

Faramir looked disturbed as well at my inquiry. "I fear that I cannot help you there," he said. "I must confess that this is the matter that has kept me so occupied the last several evenings—I have spent a great deal of time in the archives, looking for anything in the old laws that might aid him, but I have found nothing. The King has asked for my testimony regarding what happened, of course, though Mithrandir and Pippin know far more of those events than I. However, he has not discussed his thoughts on a verdict with me. I am too closely involved, and it would be difficult for me to discuss it in an impartial manner."

"I suppose so," I reluctantly admitted.

"I wish I could do more," Faramir stated. "It grieves me greatly to think that a man could be put to death for helping to save my life, but in doing so he took the life of another man. I am glad to be alive, of course, but is my life any more valuable than that of the doorwarden's?"

"I cannot judge that impartially," I replied, squeezing his hand. The corner of his mouth twitched into a smile, though it was tempered by sadness. "But I can see how that would be difficult. You have done a great deal of good for your people since you took up your office, but..." I paused, unsure what to say next.

"But the man that died was also doing his duty to his people, though the part was smaller. He was obeying the Steward's wishes," he said.

"Wishes that were born out of madness," I muttered. Faramir frowned slightly, and I sighed. "But that is not the point, is it?"

Faramir shook his head. "No, it is not."

"It is truly unfortunate," I said softly, looking up into his eyes. "Do you still feel guilty that you are the one who lived?"

"I cannot help it sometimes," he admitted. "Boromir died nobly, and I am certain that his spirit is at peace, but my father…" He shook his head sharply, closing his eyes for a moment. When he opened them again, he caressed my cheek lightly and said, "Do not misunderstand me, Éowyn. I _am_ grateful to Beregond, especially at times like this. Had he not come, I would have never known the joy that I feel when I am with you. It is simply a difficult matter to judge."

"Especially when you have to be fair and impartial to everyone, even at your own expense," I pointed out, smiling gently. Faramir raised an eyebrow, but he looked a little amused at my assessment of the situation. "What I mean to say is, in the end the judgment rests with the King. I know you have done all you can for him, Faramir, and I am certain that Mithríel and Bergil will honor that no matter what the outcome is. But the simple truth of it is, Beregond's actions saved your life. Do not belittle what he has done by questioning the path he was forced to take in order to do so."

"I am trying," Faramir said. "I just hope that the consequences will not make him and his family suffer overmuch."

"I know." Seeing that he was still distressed, I wrapped my arms around him—it was the only other comfort I could think to give him.

His arms encircled my waist and he tightened the embrace, resting his cheek on the top of my head. For a long moment we stayed like that, neither of us speaking. Then he reluctantly released me and said, "There is one more thing I might try—I have not yet had the opportunity to sit down with Beregond himself and hear his side of it."

I nodded. "You should go, then."

"Thank you for understanding," Faramir replied, catching my hand and raising it to his lips. He moved to release it, then seemingly thought better of it and pulled me closer instead, brushing a light kiss against my own lips. Before I could respond, he pulled back and dropped my hand; I could see a sparkle of mischief in his eyes as he turned to go.

"That was unfair," I protested. "You caught me off-guard, so I had no chance to enjoy it!"

"I am already promised to make it up to you later," he replied, his tone more teasing now, but his eyes were warm as he looked down at me. "Good night, Éowyn."

"Good night," I echoed. As he walked away, a sudden inspiration hit me, and I quickly spun around and headed down the hall before I could talk myself out of it.

As I was walking, I saw a dark shape out of the corner of my eye, and turned to see Aragorn standing on one of the several balconies that opened out from the windows on this level of the Citadel. He was resting his hands on the parapet casually and gazing out over the city as the twilight shadows deepened over it. I nearly turned to leave, but then swallowed hard and forced my feet to stay where they were; there was much more at stake than my pride. Even so, it took me several attempts to force out the words, "My lord?"

If I had startled him, there was no sign of it on his face as he turned towards me. "Lady Éowyn," he said, nodding politely.

"I…I was wondering if I could speak with you for a moment," I stammered. Aragorn inclined his head slightly, but remained silent. Clenching my fists nervously, I blurted out, "It is about Beregond, my lord. I have come to ask you to reconsider his sentence."

Now he _did _look surprised. "How do you know of this matter?" he asked.

I tilted my chin up a little, finally meeting his eyes. "I met his wife and son during my stay in the Houses of Healing, my lord. Mithríel and I have become friends, and she is the one who told me."

"I see." He paused, then asked, "And what would you have me do?"

"I would wish for you to pardon him, of course," I said, taken aback by his question. "I know the penalty for his crime is death, my lord, but he did it to save a man's life."

"At the expense of another man's," Aragorn stated. "Tell me, my lady, would it be an affront to the family of the man who died to say that the life of the man he saved was of greater value?"

"You sound just like Faramir," I retorted. Then, realizing what I had said, my eyes widened and I quickly corrected, "I mean, the Steward. I spoke with him about it earlier."

Aragorn's eyes bore a hint of amusement, but no surprise. "If our judgment in the matter is the same, why did you come to me, Éowyn?" he asked seriously.

My brow furrowed as I answered, "Because you are the King, and the final decision rests with you. Your city has enough wives whose husbands will never return to them, and enough children who will never see their father again; it would be truly grievous to divide another family in such a way. His actions were, perhaps, not the best, but his motives were honorable."

If my plea moved him at all, I could see no indication of it in his expression. "I give you my word, my lady, that I will take all of this into consideration."

"Thank you, my lord. That is all I ask." I gave him a quick curtsey and began to walk away, wondering if my efforts had been for nothing. But just as I took the first step, Aragorn said, almost hesitantly, "Wait." I froze, then stiffly turned back to face him. He looked less remote now, more like the Ranger I had met in Edoras than the near-stranger I had seen on the day of the coronation and ever since. "I never intended to hurt you, Éowyn," he continued.

I blinked, surprised. "I know," I finally replied. "I think that it turned out for the best after all, my lord." Even as I spoke, I suddenly realized that I truly believed every word of it, and couldn't quite keep a smile off my face as my spirits suddenly felt much lighter.

Aragorn seemed to relax as well, knowing we had reached an unspoken truce. "I am glad to hear you say that," he admitted, then smiled a bit. "He is a good man, Éowyn, and I hope he will make you happy."

My jaw dropped open, and all I could do for a long moment was blink stupidly. "How did you know?" I finally managed.

I was shocked to hear the King of Gondor laugh at my question. "First of all, the way Faramir looks at you when we gather for meals makes it quite obvious to me, though he has never spoken a word about it in my presence. Of course, it also helped that Éomer insisted on inquiring about the character of my Steward in far greater detail than any political ties between Rohan and Gondor would call for." I gasped indignantly, and Aragorn fully smiled as he added, "After that, it was simple to figure out." A strangled cry of protest escaped my throat before I could stop it, and I could not help feeling completely mortified at my brother's actions. Apparently sensing my embarrassment, Aragorn stated, "I am sure he is simply trying to look out for your welfare."

"I know," I answered hastily. I could not blame Éomer, really; had our places been reversed and Wormtongue had been tormenting him in the way he had me, I knew I would do no less. But for the first time, I was truly uncertain if Éomer would approve of Faramir's suit after all. I forced that thought back quickly; surely my brother would see that Faramir was a good match for me. If nothing else, it could hardly be a more ideal situation politically. But I also knew that Éomer would need to come to that conclusion on his own—as stubborn as he could be, trying to force the issue too quickly could have the opposite effect of what I desired. Hopefully he would not take too long to make up his mind.

Not knowing what else to say, and not wishing to discuss this matter with him further, I curtsied again and requested, "With your permission, I will take my leave, my lord." Aragorn inclined his head in a nod, and I turned to go, relieved that the encounter had gone well. As I left, I wondered if I had only imagined the soft, suppressed chuckle coming from the King's direction.

-------

It took every bit of willpower I possessed to refrain from pacing as I waited near the Citadel gate the next morning. I knew Mithríel would be coming to her husband's trial, and wished to lend her what support I could. She finally arrived with Bergil, half-supported by her son and looking far older than I had ever seen her. "Mithríel!" I called out as she approached.

"Lady Éowyn," she replied, bowing her head; we both understood that in the Citadel, our roles were once again reversed from what they had become working together in the Houses of Healing. "What are you doing here?" she asked then, quietly but in a less formal tone.

"Waiting for you," I answered. "I did not think you would want to go in alone." Mithríel blinked, seeming oddly surprised by the offer, and I asked, "Did you think I would do otherwise?"

"I…I was not expecting you to offer," Mithríel stammered. "After all, you are a noblewoman and I am simply a commoner."

"And you are also my friend, Mithríel," I replied quietly. I suppose I should have expected it; a person's rank seemed to bear much more weight in Gondor than in Rohan. "Your husband is here because of Faramir," I continued, "and that means that I am involved as well."

Mithríel nodded, an understanding look on her face. "Thank you, Éowyn," she said.

As the three of us headed into the Citadel courtyard, Bergil looked up at me and asked, "Lady Eowyn? Do you think there is any hope that the King will release my father?"

I had to swallow hard past the sudden lump in my throat; I could see in Bergil's eyes that he fully understood what this day might bring for his family. It was also quite obvious that if things went ill, he would find it difficult to forgive Aragorn for it. "The King is a just man, Bergil," I finally said. "I am sure he will do the right thing." I could only hope I was not mistaken.

After a brief explanation of why we had come, the guards allowed us to enter the Great Hall, where Aragorn was holding his council. A few soldiers, wearing the black and silver livery of Gondor, were receiving recognition from the King for their deeds on the Pelennor as we passed behind the crowd of men that lined the central part of the hall. Several of them glanced our way as we walked, but we continued moving until we were much closer to the dais where Aragorn sat on the great marble throne. Imrahil and several other lords of Gondor sat on smaller chairs behind the throne, as well as Éomer, wearing the ceremonial clothing that his men had provided for him and looking every inch a king in his own right. It was strange to see my brother in such a light, but I was proud to see how quickly he was adapting to his new role. Faramir was there too, sitting in the smaller black Steward's chair, which had been moved from the lowest step to the King's right hand; as we took our places close enough to the dais that we might see and hear what was said, I briefly caught his gaze; hardly a muscle moved in his face, but I understood the unspoken message that he still did not know what the outcome of the trial would be.

It was not long before the men were dismissed and Aragorn nodded to the captain of the Guards. Two men stepped forward, one in uniform and another in civilian clothes. As he walked forward, I got my first look at the man who had saved Faramir's life; like so many of the men of Gondor, he was tall with raven hair and clear grey eyes, and I could see now that Bergil clearly favored his father. But he carried himself less proudly than the captain who walked beside him, and as he passed by his wife and son, his expression was grave as he looked at them. I could see Mithríel press her lips together slightly and blink hard as he walked. Finally, the two men stopped in front of the throne and the guard announced, "Beregond, son of Baranor, my lord." He stepped back a few paces then, leaving Beregond alone before the King.

Aragorn regarded him sternly for a moment before speaking. "Beregond, son of Baranor, you have been charged with slaying one man and seriously wounding two others in the Hallows of Minas Tirith." He paused, then stated, "I have already heard testimony from Mithrandir and the Halfling, Peregrin son of Paladin, regarding these matters. Before I pronounce my judgment, I wish to hear, in your own words, what happened on that day."

There was a long moment of silence before Beregond began to speak; he kept his gaze firmly fixed on the stairs leading up to the throne, not daring to look the King in the eyes. "The fighting had already begun on the Pelennor," he finally said, his words halting at first but gaining strength as he continued to speak, "and I was stationed near the Citadel gates, to defend my lord the Steward if the battle should reach the heart of the City. I saw Master Peregrin running away from the Citadel and hailed him to ask what his errand was, and to inquire what had become of Lord Faramir; rumor had reached us that he had been borne to Rath Dínen. Peregrin told me that he was yet living but that a fey mood had taken Lord Denethor, and that he needed to find Mithrandir as quickly as possible. He also advised me that Lord Denethor needed to be stopped. I told him that I was not permitted to leave my post, save by the command of the Steward himself." I caught a slight motion out of the corner of my eye and noticed, for the first time, that Pippin was across the hall, standing with Merry, Gimli and Legolas. The hobbit was wearing the livery of the Citadel guard and obviously trying to act as such, but he still shuffled his feet slightly and wore a guilty look on his face.

"Peregrin told me that it was a choice between following orders and Lord Faramir's life," Beregond continued, and I glanced at Faramir. His expression was carefully guarded, but his face had gone slightly pale. I could only imagine how difficult it was for him to hear what had happened that day; it was difficult enough for me to listen. Beregond's eyes briefly shot towards Faramir as well as he said, "The Halfling departed to find Mithrandir, and I left my post and went to Rath Dínen. I tried to explain what Peregrin had told me to the doorwarden, but when I tried to enter, he drew his sword against me. I…" His voice trailed off for a moment before he gathered his courage and went on with his tale. "It happened so quickly—I only wished to disarm him, and had no time to spare. In my haste, my thrust went too deeply and I…I killed him."

A low murmur went through the crowd at his admission of guilt. Aragorn's expression remained impassive, however, and he ordered, "Continue."

"I took the key and continued to the House of the Stewards," Beregond said. "I reached the door and was about to enter, when Lord Denethor's personal servants returned, bearing torches. I tried to hold the door against them—it is not the way of Gondor to burn their dead, and I feared what that might mean if Lord Faramir truly was still alive, as Peregrin claimed. Mithrandir and Peregrin arrived then, just as Lord Denethor opened the door to remove me himself. He raised his sword against me, but Mithrandir raised his staff, and Lord Denethor dropped his sword." When I looked at Faramir, his eyes were cast downward. Beregond fell silent for a moment, then said, "I believe Mithrandir and Peregrin have told you the rest, my lord." I released a breath I had not known I was holding, relieved that Denethor's actions against his son would not be revealed before the crowd while Faramir himself did not yet know the entire story.

The hall was completely silent, waiting for Aragorn to speak, and I could almost feel Mithríel trembling beside me. He waited until Beregond finally looked up, rather nervously, and said, "Beregond, by your sword blood was spilled in the Hallows, where that is forbidden. Also you left your post without leave of Lord or of Captain. For these things, of old, death was the penalty. Now, therefore, I must pronounce your doom."

"All penalty is remitted for your valor in battle, and still more because all that you did was for the love of the Lord Faramir," Aragorn continued, and I breathed a sigh of relief. Mithríel stifled a sound somewhere between a gasp and a sob, while Bergil's face broke into a wide grin. Before anyone could speak, however, Aragorn continued, "Nonetheless you must leave the Guard of the Citadel, and you must go forth from the City of Minas Tirith."

Even from where I stood, I could see Beregond's face go deathly white. Bergil froze, his eyes wide, and Mithríel's knees buckled; she would have fallen had I not caught her arm to steady her. Beregond's head dropped, and a sorrowful look flashed across Faramir's face, gone almost before anyone could see it. Aragorn raised his hand then to stop the murmur that had already begun among the people gathered there and announced, "So it must be, for you are appointed to the White Company, the Guard of Faramir, Prince of Ithilien, and you shall be its captain and dwell in Emyn Arnen in honor and peace, and in the service of him for whom you risked all, to save him from death."

My eyes shot over to Faramir; he looked back at me, obviously as surprised as I was. Éomer's gaze jerked over towards the Steward as well, his brow furrowing in thought, while next to him an approving smile crossed Imrahil's face. As for Gandalf, he did not look the least bit surprised. A cheer began somewhere within the room. When I looked for the source, I saw Damrod and several men also dressed as Rangers; but it quickly spread from there as the crowd showed their approval for Aragorn's appointment. My attention was brought back to Mithríel as, relieved, she suddenly pulled me into a hug. As for Beregond, a wide smile lit up his face, and he knelt and kissed the King's hand. Aragorn smiled kindly then and spoke quietly to Beregond, who then rose to his feet and turned towards Mithríel. He crossed the distance between them quickly, and I grinned and nudged her away as he pulled her into his arms, hugging her tightly before releasing her just enough to pull his son into his embrace as well.

Enthusiastic cheering was still coming from those gathered there as Aragorn called out, more to get everyone to quiet down than for his Steward's benefit, "Faramir, son of Denethor, step forth." Faramir complied, still looking a bit in shock. "Do you accept this charge, to rule over the lands of Ithilien and to labor to cleanse it from the darkness brought into it by the servants of Sauron?"

Faramir's voice was clear and strong as he replied, "With all my heart, my lord." I smiled, knowing how deeply his love ran for the land he had spent so many years defending.

Aragorn smiled too. His reply was quieter, but I was close enough to hear as he said, "Then it is yours. Rule it wisely."

"I shall do my best, my lord," Faramir replied.

"I have no doubt of that," Gandalf interrupted, his face crinkling into what could almost be an amused grin. "The care you have taken already in preserving what you could has proven that you are more than capable of this task."

I knew just enough of the wizard to know that this was high praise, and Faramir finally relaxed and smiled himself. Aragorn glanced from him to Beregond—or perhaps it was at me—then said, "I bid you then, to make your home in Emyn Arnen, for Minas Ithil in Morgul Vale shall be utterly destroyed, and though it may in time to come be made clean, no man may dwell there for many long years." Faramir bowed his head, but his gaze flicked over to mine, and I gave him a tiny nod to let him know that I was pleased with the arrangement—from what he had told me, it sounded like the hill country on the other side of the river would be much more to my liking than living in a city of stone. Éomer was still scowling a bit, but looked as if he reluctantly had to admit that he knew this, too.

As Faramir went back to his seat beside Aragorn, the King looked behind him and said, "King Éomer of Rohan." The Rohirrim that were in the hall cheered enthusiastically, showing their support even though he had not yet been officially crowned in Edoras, and I gladly joined them. To the surprise of the Gondorian noblemen, Aragorn rose from his throne and the two men embraced each other, clasping their hands in a more Rohirric greeting. "Between us there can be no word of giving or taking, nor of reward, for we are brethren," Aragorn said. "In happy hour did Eorl ride from the North, and never has any league of peoples been more blessed, so that neither has ever failed the other, nor shall fail." My countrymen cheered again, clearly approving his recognition of how much our people had sacrificed to help his.

"Now, as you know," Aragorn continued, "we have laid Théoden the Renowned in a tomb in the Hallows, and there he shall lie forever among the Kings of Gondor, if you will. Or if you desire it, we will come to Rohan and bring him back to rest with his own people."

"Since the day when you rose before me out of the green grass of the downs, I have loved you as a brother, and that love shall not fail. But now I must depart for awhile to my own realm, where there is much to heal and set in order," Éomer answered, his gaze briefly flickering over Aragorn's shoulder towards me. "But as for the fallen, when all is made ready, we will return for him. But here, let him sleep awhile."

"Then return to your lands with the gratitude of all of Gondor, my friend," Aragorn replied with a smile. "When shall you depart?"

"The day after tomorrow," Éomer announced. "My men are quite eager to return to their homes."

_So quickly? _I thought, looking towards Faramir again. I had not expected to have to part from him with so little warning, and it suddenly struck me just how deeply I would miss him. My thoughts were mirrored in Faramir's eyes, and as soon as the council was dismissed and he was able to, he made his way towards me.

First of all, he greeted Beregond and said, "I am glad this worked out, my friend. I had suspected the King would pardon you, but had no wish to falsely raise your hopes."

Beregond bowed his head and replied, "It will be an honor to serve you, my lord."

"The honor is mine, to have such a selfless and valiant man to fight alongside," Faramir answered.

Beregond smiled, and I could see then why Faramir's Rangers had loved him so—I could see on his face that he meant every word of it.

"Does this mean I get to be one of your guards too?" Bergil chimed in eagerly..

Faramir smiled and knelt to the boy's eye-level, then replied, "It is not an easy task, and you will have much to learn. But I believe, in time, you will be as fine a guard as your father."

"All right!" Bergil exclaimed as both of his parents laughed at his enthusiasm.

"And I am sure that your skills as a healer will prove quite useful as well, Mithríel," Faramir said, turning towards her. Mithríel acknowledged his praise with a surprisingly shy smile and a curtsey. Faramir looked back at Beregond and said, "I will summon you in a few days' time, Captain Beregond. The settlement at Emyn Arnen has been uninhabited for years, as you know, and we will have much to do to make it livable again. We should scout out the area as soon as possible to ensure that none of the Enemy's servants are still lurking there, and to assess what we will need in the way of labor and supplies. But for now," he finished with a smile, "enjoy the time with your family."

"Yes, my Prince," Beregond replied gratefully, bowing deeply as Mithríel curtsied again, and they soon departed with Bergil eagerly asking his father how long it would be before he could be a guard.

Faramir and I stepped away from the crowd a bit, and I raised an eyebrow as I looked up at him. "Prince Faramir has an interesting ring to it," I said.

"I had no idea he was going to do that, Éowyn," he quickly replied. A thoughtful look crossed his face then, and he amended, "He did ask me a few days ago what I would be doing now if I was not serving as his Steward, and from there the conversation led into my years in Ithilien. Truthfully, I thought he might be having second thoughts about appointing me as Steward—I never expected anything like this."

"You would not." I smiled, then said, "It seems he thinks very highly of you, and I can think of no one more deserving of such an honor. I am so proud of you, Faramir."

"Thank you," he answered quietly.

He smiled, but his eyes were still somewhat troubled, and I asked, "Are you all right? That must have been a difficult testimony for you to hear."

Faramir nodded slightly. "It still seems as if there is something that I have not been told. I think I will have to ask Mithrandir or Pippin to tell me the whole story sometime."

"Do you want me to come?" I asked.

"There is no time," he said. "If we only have one more day together, I do not wish for it to be filled with such dark memories."

"But I want to be there if you need it," I protested.

"I know," he said, "and I appreciate it. When I know, I will tell you the whole story, I promise."

I nodded, briefly feeling guilty as I realized I had not yet told him _my _story. But Faramir was right—I did not want our remaining time before my departure to be tainted with the shadow that Wormtongue had left in my life. The next time we were together, I resolved, I would. But for the moment I pushed it aside and asked, "Do we have time to go to Emyn Arnen?"

"It is a full day's ride, though it is in sight of the city. The safest place to ford the River is in Osgiliath, and then it is several hours south of there and through the hills," Faramir said, shaking his head as a wry smile crossed his face. "I doubt it would help matters anyway if I kept you out all night trying to ride back in time."

I glanced towards my brother, who was busy consulting with Elfhelm and Erkenbrand. "No, it would not."

I felt his fingers brush mine, then my hand was enveloped in his. "I do wish you did not have to leave so soon," he said softly.

"As do I," I replied, "but I know I must go back. Éomer is depending on me to assist him, and it will be good to see my homeland one last time. Théoden was like a father to me as well, and I want to be there when he is finally laid to rest."

"I understand," Faramir answered, squeezing my hand lightly.

I lifted my eyes to meet his. "When that is done, I will return, I promise."

Faramir was about to reply, but Éomer walked up then and stated, "Éowyn, it is time to go." As he spoke, his gaze flickered down towards my and Faramir's joined hands, and I tightened my grip slightly. Éomer glanced at Faramir then and said, coolly but politely, "And congratulations, Prince Faramir."

"Thank you, King Éomer," Faramir replied just as politely, then looked back at me and raised my hand to his lips. "Farewell for now, Lady Éowyn."

"Until we meet again, my Lord Prince," I answered smoothly as he released my hand. I glanced back at him as I walked away beside Éomer, resolving silently that somehow I would get Éomer to consent. After all, I had given Faramir my word.

* * *

_**A/N: Well, I'm back. First of all, special thanks to Deandra for thoroughly going through this for me—it's been awhile since I've worked on this story, so it's much appreciated!**_

_**For the charges against Beregond, though it said that two of Denethor's servants had fallen to his blade in "The Pyre of Denethor", the only one Beregond mentioned as regretting killing was the porter at the door to the Silent Street, so I inferred from this that the other two could have been merely wounded in an incapacitating manner. Also, my reasoning for having Aragorn surprise Faramir with a princedom was that a) this isn't the first time Aragorn's done something to buck tradition in his short reign (like having Gandalf be the one to crown him and pardoning Beregond), b) in the text his explanation about appointing Faramir to rule Ithilien and why he should live in Emyn Arnen seems a bit lengthy for something that Faramir would have seen coming, and c) since I was building it as Faramir not knowing which way Beregond would be judged, it just worked better.**_

_**I did make a few changes to Tolkien's dialogue--a minor one between Aragorn and Éomer, and expanding the dialogue both for Beregond's trial/Faramir's princedom and for Éowyn's given parting words to Faramir.**_

_**Also, for clarification, within my storyline at this point Faramir doesn't know the entire truth about what happened with Denethor, though he's made some peace with the circumstances (see Until the Stars are All Alight). Though he's spoken to Beregond, I think it would be more about what pertained to the trial (events up till Gandalf and Pippin's arrival), and so there's some important details he doesn't know (particularly that one of Denethor's last acts before going to his pyre was to try to kill Faramir again with a knife, and Beregond saved him from that as well.)**_


	31. Chapter 31: The Leavetaking

_**Author's note: I know, I know... Once again, apologies that it's taken so long for me to update this. I'll admit that the first scene on this chapter had me very writer-blocked for some time, along with the usual distractions via real life and whatnot. Thanks to Deandra for pointing out some major flaws in the first draft (she hasn't seen this one, so hopefully the second version is ok.) So for those of you still reading it (especially to those of you that have surprised me recently by still reviewing!), I hope this was worth the wait.**_

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**_**Chapter 31—The Leave-taking**

I lay in my bed, staring at the darkened ceiling of the room I had been using in the Citadel. It had been quite some time since I had given up on sleeping that night; my mind was too full to allow me any rest. So, despite my exhaustion from having stayed up late to pack my things for our departure, I had spent many hours tossing and turning, dozing off fitfully at best.

We were to leave in the morning, and so the previous day had been mostly spent on seeing to our mounts, assisting Éomer with coordinating the supplies that Aragorn had promised to send with us for the journey home, and saying farewell to my new-found friends at the Houses of Healing. Daeron had kindly lent me a thick book filled with the herblore of Gondor and carefully-drawn illustrations of the different plants, in order that I might continue my studies once I had returned to Rohan. In return, I had promised that I would do my best to learn what I could of any effective remedies among my people that were not used by the Southerners, in order to pass that along when I was next in Gondor. I had also made a point of visiting Mithríel and Bergil to say farewell to them. Beregond had been with Faramir at the time, discussing what his duties would entail as Captain of the Guard in Emyn Arnen. Mithríel told me that, though his sentence was to leave Minas Tirith, they had learned later that day that they would be allowed to stay in the city until the settlement was both livable and able to be defended from any foe that might still roam the hills across the river. She was extremely grateful for the King's leniency in this matter, particularly because Daeron had decided to make her the head of the Houses of Healing that were to be built there—she was certain that it would take her months to procure all the supplies she would need to get started there, especially with so much getting used up in the recent battles. For my part, I was glad she had gotten the position—not simply because she was my friend, but because the time spent with her over the past several weeks, both as a patient and as an apprentice, left me with no doubts that her experience and skill made her perfectly suited to the task.

I had spent the evening with Faramir, mostly walking around the upper part of the city and talking. Faramir spoke a great deal about his plans for Emyn Arnen; there had been a thriving town there in days of old, he said, but, like much of Ithilien, it had been abandoned as the enemy made greater headway in those lands. He and Beregond had decided that they, along with those of Faramir's Rangers who were able-bodied enough to accompany them, would ride out there within the week to assess what repairs needed to be made and what supplies were needed to do so. His excitement about having the chance to restore the area was contagious, and I found myself deeply regretting that I would not see it ere I left. We also discussed my apprehension about my reception by the refugees I had abandoned at Dunharrow. While he could not honestly assure me that I would not be met with bitterness or anger, his willingness to simply listen to me did much to calm my fears for the moment, at least.

We talked of many other things as well, much as we had done in those days spent together in the gardens at the Houses of Healing—anything but the fact that I would be leaving him the next day. I found the thought of it increasingly harder to bear, and did not want to spoil what little time I had left with him by my sadness. So we had ended up in the gardens of the Citadel, mainly due to my unwillingness to part from him too soon. Despite sitting in a more secluded area under a tree, Éomer had still found us there. Needless to say, he had been quite unhappy about finding me in the Steward's embrace, and my protests that it had been nothing more than an innocent kiss fell on seemingly deaf ears. If I knew my brother, he was probably still fuming about it, and wondering how he would react to Faramir's proposal now was a great part of what kept me awake.

Faramir himself had been responsible for the rest of it; later that evening as I had been packing, I had heard a soft knock on the door, followed by a small, folded piece of parchment sliding underneath. The note, though hastily scribbled, was obviously in Faramir's hand and simply asked that I meet him in Finduillas's garden at dawn. And so, once I had abandoned the idea of sleeping, I had been waiting rather impatiently for the grey light preceding the sunrise. I finally rose from my bed, donning the riding outfit that Lothiríel had helped me obtain and packing my nightdress away. I was not bringing much more home than I had brought with me; I had decided to leave the borrowed Gondorian dresses for whomever might need them, and so I had only a few articles of clothing, the book of herblore, and the blue mantle, carefully wrapped up and packed away along with the dress Lothiríel had gifted me with for the coronation. All that was left out was the cloak I had brought from home, the silver horse-head brooch still pinned to it at the neck. I brushed my fingers over it thoughtfully as I threw the cloak on—though the days were already as warm in this southern land as early summer in Rohan, the evenings and mornings were still cool and damp. Then I slipped out of the room and carefully shut the door behind me before making my way down the hall.

I had no difficulty in remembering the way, but was still a little surprised to see that the door leading to the garden was already slightly ajar; after all, it was barely light out yet. I slowly pushed it open, wincing at the low squeak that came from the hinges, and stepped outside. Faramir was already there, standing by the parapet and looking towards the east. He turned around slightly as he heard the door, a smile immediately crossing his face at the sight of me.

It suddenly struck me that this was essentially the last time I would see him for quite some time. He must have seen it on my face, because he met me halfway across the grass, catching me in his arms and pulling me as close as he could. "Faramir," I whispered, half-burying my face against his shoulder and swallowing hard past the lump that had already risen in my throat.

"I know," he said just as quietly, his fingers stroking my still-unbound hair gently. "This is difficult for me as well."

I pulled back only far enough that I could see his face. "Last night… was Éomer very upset about it?" He and Faramir had both walked me to my room, and I had only barely caught the stony look in my brother's eyes as I had closed the door.

Faramir sighed. "He was not happy." I could see a slight trace of uncertainty in his eyes as he then asked, "Éowyn, I am not sure that he…"

I rested my finger on his lips to silence him before he could finish. "It will take time, but he will come around. Of that, I am certain."

"And if he does not?"

I smiled a bit, remembering a similar conversation between us not too long ago; it seemed our places had reversed. "Then we will find a way to be together, even if I must disguise myself as a man again and ride to Gondor alone!" I declared.

Faramir chuckled, but there was something in his eyes as he looked down at me that left my stomach in knots. "I hope you will not have to resort to that," he said in a low voice, bringing his fingers to my cheek and touching it lightly. "I have no wish to belittle what you did, but you are far too beautiful to hide yourself behind such a disguise." We stood there looking at each other for a long moment; I know not which of us moved towards the other first, but the next thing I knew, I was kissing him almost desperately. He returned it just as fervently, holding me as close as possible.

I did not want it to end; it was as if some invisible wall within me had suddenly crumbled and now desire for this man threatened to overwhelm me completely. And so I was disappointed when Faramir abruptly pulled away from me, running his hand through his dark hair and taking a ragged breath as he looked up at the sky. The sun had not yet cleared the eastern mountains, but there was a rosy glow on the horizon that indicated it would not be long. "I should not keep you here much longer," he stated quietly, disappointment clearly written on his face.

"Probably not," I reluctantly agreed. Éomer and I were supposed to dine once more with Aragorn and his company, including Prince Imrahil and his family, before the Rohirrim departed. I knew that my brother was hoping that we would be riding out by mid-morning. "But can we not wait a few moments longer?" I pleaded.

He nodded wordlessly, pulling me into his arms once more and resting his cheek on top of my hair. I wrapped my arms around his waist, swallowing hard against the lump in my throat. Neither of us spoke for quite some time as we watched the sun's first rays make their way over the distant peaks, turning the sky around them a breathtaking mixture of gold and orange fading to a deeper blue. Only a few clouds drifted by, their pearlescent wisps a striking contrast against the blue. "It will be a good day for travel," Faramir murmured, lifting his head away from mine and looking out over the fields before giving me a wry half-smile and adding, "Though I admit that part of me wishes for a downpour, if it would keep you here another day."

"I know." I looked up at him then and said softly, "Thank you…for everything. I do not know how I would have gotten through these past few weeks without you, Faramir."

"I am certain that I would not have done well at all without you," he replied, bending down just enough to press a kiss against my forehead.

I turned my eyes to the east; the sun had nearly cleared the mountains. I had very little time left alone with him. Reaching up towards my neck, I fumbled to unpin the brooch that held my cloak closed. Faramir turned a questioning look on me, and I placed it in his hand, saying, "I want you to have this."

"Your uncle gave it to you," he protested. "How can I…"

I interrupted him with a kiss this time. When I pulled back, I replied, "The same way I can take your mother's cloak with me. I will see it again, and I want you to have something to remember me by."

"I could never forget you, Éowyn," he said, moving closer again. As I closed my eyes, I could feel his lips touch my forehead, then my cheek. "I love you," he whispered just before kissing my earlobe, then my neck just below my jawline; it sent a shiver up my spine that had nothing to do with the coolness of the morning air. He must have felt it, but he merely moved on to my lips, capturing them in a slow, lingering kiss.

I was the first one to pull away this time, resting my forehead against his. "We really should go meet the others," I stated, breathless.

"I know," he replied, stroking my cheek with his hand.

I kissed him softly one last time; unshed tears were lightly stinging my eyes, but I would not allow them to fall. "And I do love you," I said.

"I know," he said again, smiling. I smiled back as he stood and helped me to my feet. We walked hand-in-hand towards the door leading back to the Citadel. Once we reached it, he paused and raised my hand to his lips, lightly kissing it. "You had best get back to your quarters," he told me, his eyes looking into mine intently.

"I suppose I should. I will see you at breakfast, then," I replied. He nodded, then released my hand as he opened the door, and I stepped back into the cooler darkness of the Citadel.

*~*~*

It seemed that I had barely returned to my quarters before a knock sounded on the door. "Come in," I called, preoccupied with checking the room to ensure I had not left any necessary items behind.

"Good morning," Éomer greeted me, keeping his tone carefully neutral, "Are you packed?"

"Yes, I finished earlier this morning," I replied. Then, unwilling to let things fester long between us again, I blurted out, "Éomer, about last night…"

An uncomfortable look crossed his face. "I do not wish to discuss it."

"I spoke truly when I said that nothing happened between us," I stated, ignoring his comment for the moment. When he did not reply, I asked, more hesitantly, "You _do _believe me, right?"

"Of course I believe you," Éomer answered, sighing in near-exasperation. "I just had no wish to see you and him…" He paused, then finished lamely, "…like that."

"I am not a child anymore," I said, narrowing my eyes slightly at him. "And you know full well that he does intend to marry me."

"So he says." Éomer's voice was a near-growl.

"What do you mean?" I asked suspiciously.

He looked uncomfortable again, then said, "I have heard many a story of men making promises they had no intention of keeping when they wanted such favors from a woman. How do you know he will not do the same?"

"Faramir is not like that," I answered calmly. "You will see—he will keep his word." Éomer still looked skeptical, so I laid a hand on his arm and said, "I have known you my entire life, and there is no doubt in my mind that you would not treat a woman in such a callous manner. What makes it so hard for you to believe that he will not treat me thusly?"

His eyes softened. "I just do not wish to see you hurt again, Éowyn."

"I know. And he will not—of that I am certain," I said. Éomer did not reply, so after a moment I took his arm and said, "They are probably expecting us."

"Undoubtedly," Éomer agreed as we began to walk down the hall.

I decided it was time to attempt to lighten the mood a little. "Perhaps this would be easier if we started trying to find a wife for you? I can think of several women in the court here that would be more than happy to volunteer…"

I could not help laughing at the look of horror on Éomer's face. "Spare me!" he groaned. "All I want right now is a hot meal and to get home without getting ambushed by any hordes of orcs or scheming noblewomen!" I laughed again, though I abruptly stopped as he paused in his tracks, suddenly more serious. "Which reminds me," he added, "it is time that I returned this to you."

As he unbuckled his sword-belt, pulling the scabbard free, I suddenly noticed that the sword he had been wearing was not his. Shocked, I looked up at him. "You are giving this back to me?" At his nod, I said, "But I thought you did not wish for me to fight again."

"I do not," he replied, "but I do not know what we will encounter on the road home. Mordor may be defeated, but its minions are not entirely destroyed; nor do I know what awaits us in Rohan. If by some chance we are attacked, my mind will be more at ease if I know that you have the means to defend yourself."

"You surprise me, brother," I said softly as he handed the sheathed sword over to me. "But thank you."

Éomer shrugged slightly, then a tiny smirk crossed his face. "As long as you do not use it to lend strength to your arguments in favor of your Steward."

Out of pure habit, I smacked him on the arm as he laughed at my irritated expression. "You are so stubborn!"

"As are you, my dear little sister," he replied, "and you need to put that with your things so that I can get some food."

"Agreed." With that, I hurried back to my room and laid it with my pack, then rushed back down the hall to catch up with Éomer.

~*~*~

It seemed Aragorn had decided to have only his closest friends for breakfast this time—all four of the hobbits were there, of course, as were Gandalf, Legolas and Gimli. Faramir was also present, along with Prince Imrahil and his children. Éomer quickly became engrossed in a conversation with Aragorn and Imrahil, with Faramir and Gandalf occasionally making a comment. From the snatches of talk that I heard, it seemed that it had to do with affairs in Rohan, and I was sure that Éomer would tell me later if anything important was discussed. Since I was sitting near Lothiríel, I turned my attention to her. "You shall have to come to visit us in Rohan sometime, Lothiríel," I offered.

She smiled brightly. "I think I would like that, from what you have told me of it. Truth be told, I have never been further from home than Minas Tirith, and it would be interesting to see what life is like outside of Gondor."

"Well, no one thinks anything odd about a woman riding astride, for one thing," I replied. "Then we can see what that pretty mare of yours is truly capable of."

Lothiríel laughed. "Perhaps you could come to visit us in Dol Amroth as well, and I could take you to the beach." She lowered her voice and added conspiratorially, "Faramir is quite fond of the sea, from what I hear, though it has been long since he has come to visit us."

"I shall keep that in mind," I replied with a smile. It faded as I glanced across the table and saw Merry, who was looking a little glum. "Merry, you shall be coming to Rohan before long, will you not?"

The _holbytla _brightened up a little. "I hope so. Éomer did say that I am more than welcome to come along when he returns for King Théoden. I would come with you now, only I don't want to leave Frodo. And Aragorn seems to be waiting for something, but he won't tell us what."

I had my suspicions as to what—or whom—Aragorn was waiting for, but kept them to myself. "I am sure he will tell you when he is ready to."

Pippin, who was sitting next to Merry as usual, chimed in then. "Are you nervous about going back home, Éowyn? Since you weren't supposed to leave, I mean."

"Pippin!" Merry shot a dark glare at his cousin.

"What?" Pippin looked at Merry blankly before taking another forkful of ham. Merry rolled his eyes in exasperation, then looked at me and opened his mouth to apologize.

"No, he is right, Merry," I quickly stated before he could speak. "I was not supposed to leave. Truth be told, I do not know how they will receive me back home now."

"You could apologize," Merry said tentatively, furrowing his brow slightly.

I smiled, a bit sadly. "Have you learned nothing about my people, Merry? The men here may have accepted it, but those who remained behind will not understand. Especially those I left in Dunharrow."

"What would it take to smooth things over?" Lothiríel asked.

"I know not. We can be quite stubborn, especially when it comes to holding grudges. And I do not know if the women will understand why I left them—it is always difficult for those left behind, especially when those they wait for do not return." I could still remember the pain within my own family after my father had been slain—especially my mother's.

Lothiríel looked thoughtful. "What do they do in Rohan for those people—the widows and such?"

I frowned a bit. "I do not know," I finally admitted. "I suppose I never really thought about it. My uncle took us in, of course—I suppose their families help them too, when they can. That might be more difficult now, though, since more men would have been lost in this war."

"That is certainly something to think about," Lothiríel replied. Her voice was nonchalant, but when I looked at her steadily, she merely raised her eyebrow at me and smiled. Understanding the challenge, I smiled back, silently thanking her—that was something to think about, indeed.

*~*~*

By mid-morning, as planned, Éomer and I were holding our mounts by the reins as we, along with Éothain and the other men of Éomer's guard, stood at the front of the column of Rohirrim. Elfhelm and Erkenbrand were further back in the line, having chosen to ride with their own eoreds. Aragorn and Éomer were speaking to each other, exchanging farewells. I tried to pay attention to what they were saying, but my eyes kept drifting over toward Faramir. He was having the same difficulty, it seemed, and it was not long before I had to force myself to look away lest I broke my resolve to return home. I must have missed the formal farewell, because as I turned my gaze back towards Éomer and Aragorn, the latter smiled. "Safe journey, my friend."

"I suppose I should wish you good luck!" Éomer replied with a grin and a laugh. Aragorn laughed as well as the two men grasped each other's forearms, then embraced in the same fashion that I commonly saw among the men of my people, thumping each other soundly on the back.

Aragorn then turned to me and bowed. "Though it was unhappy circumstance that led you here, I will not forget the service you have done my people, my lady. I wish you every happiness."

"Thank you, my lord," I replied, giving him a small curtsey, then lowered my voice so that the onlookers might not hear and added, "And I do hope she comes to you swiftly."

Aragorn raised an eyebrow at that, and I fought a tiny smile—my guess at Merry's question over breakfast had been correct, apparently. But his only reply was a bemused smile.

Aragorn stepped back then, and Merry stepped forward, bowing to Éomer. "Farewell, my lord," he said.

"Only for a time, Merry—if fortune is kind, it will not be long before I call on your services once more," Éomer replied. "And for all that you have done for both my family and my people, you have my eternal thanks."

Merry bowed once more, then turned to me. Before he could bow, though, I knelt down to his level and said, "None of that, Merry—not after all we have been through together." With that, I pulled him into a swift hug, then whispered as I pulled away, "Keep an eye on Faramir for me, would you?"

"Of course," he replied with a wink. I smiled gratefully, kissing him on top of the head as I stood back to my feet and brushed my riding skirt off.

Éomer gave me a look that signaled that it was time to leave, and all of the Rohirrim followed suit as he mounted Firefoot. "For your hospitality these many weeks, I give your people thanks, my lord," he called out, turning his horse towards Aragorn once more, "and if Gondor needs our aid again, my sword will be at your side."

"Likewise, we will come swiftly to your lands if Rohan calls," Aragorn stated, causing many of the Riders to cheer in obvious approval of his oath—I had often heard complaints among my people, as the orc attacks grew more frequent, about Gondor's unwillingness to aid us even though ancient oaths bound us to assist them if they called. Éomer then drew his sword and signaled that it was time to move out. Éothain led the way with a few of his guards, then Éomer nudged his horse into a slow trot.

I followed suit with Windfola, though his gait quickly slowed as I turned in the saddle to look at Faramir. He simply nodded at me instead of saying farewell, but the warmth in his eyes as they met mine said more than mere words could have conveyed. I smiled at him as best as I could, though I was already beginning to feel more sorrow over the leave-taking than I had expected. Then I hurried to catch up to Éomer as we rode under the archway where the ruined gates of the city had once stood.

I did not look back until we were far over the Pelennor; I could not. The land around the city was already beginning to heal from the battle fought there, as new grass was beginning to creep in to cover the scorch marks and the fresh earth that marked where trenches dug during the siege had been filled. As for the city itself, it stood proud and gleaming in the sun; only what appeared to be small imperfections in the outer wall at this distance showed the effects of the onslaught against it. Éomer must have somehow been able to read my thoughts from my expression, for he turned to me and said, "The land heals more quickly than the people who fought here, it seems."

"Perhaps we simply have more to overcome to find peace again," I replied, "but that does not mean it will not come."

"I hope you are right, Éowyn," he stated quietly, then turned to face forward again without another word. I knew then for certain that, although it felt as if I had left a vital part of myself in Minas Tirith, returning home had been the right choice. I had found my healing; it was suddenly clear to me that Éomer, having to shoulder far more of the burden of responsibility for our people, had not yet. He would need all the aid I could give him in the months to come. All I could do now was prepare myself for our return as well as I could, and hope that my choice to come to Gondor would not prove to add more weight to that which he already carried.


End file.
